


Villain

by Lafaiette



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Dysfunctional Family, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Content, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-19 18:31:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2398538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafaiette/pseuds/Lafaiette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Parker, lost in time and far from his present after an incident with a time machine, meets a little Wade Wilson, struggling with a life too hard and cruel for him.</p><p>Fic counterpart to "<a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1181432/chapters/2409549">Hero</a>".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I can finally post this! I had this idea in mind for a long while and only now I found the time to write it. This fic is the companion of "[Hero](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1181432/chapters/2409549)"; they can be read separately, of course, but there is a common theme that deeply connects them. The ride is not going to be long, but it will be definitely intense :'D 
> 
> Thanks for reading and forgive me for any typo (and heartache)!

Peter has seen many things in his life that made him squeal in pure nerdy delight, but a time machine is definitely at the top of his list.

He should really thank the scientists that created it to go back in time and meddle with it, he guesses. He makes sure to do so as he dodges their bullets and webs them on the floor, while the rest of the Avengers takes care of the better armed ones and their security robots.

Wade is with them today. Captain America accepted his help - after Peter insisted about it and Wade made his best puppy eyes - and he is doing a pretty good job at not putting bullets into the scientists’ heads or cutting off their limbs. That doesn’t mean he isn’t using his guns and katanas, but at least there isn’t much blood on the floor and Peter smiles proudly when he sees him stab a guy in the leg to stop him instead of knocking the knife into his skull.

His love and pride for Wade grow even stronger when Captain America berates Wolverine, fuming and growling with his claws dripping blood, instead of Wade.

“Logan! Stop being a _beast_ and help us here!”

Peter jumps next to some boxes to avoid another stream of bullets, which abruptly stops when Wade shoots at the scientists aiming at him.

“Spidey! You okay?”

Peter shoots a web at the railing above their heads and, just before flying past him, presses a kiss on his masked cheek and whispers: “Thank you, honey.” He can see Wade’s grin even from a mile away.

He lands near the time machine and stops for a second to admire it; it looks like a portal of some sort, with wires and lights attached to it and connected to a machine in a dark corner with a huge screen and keyboard on it. He hopes Rogers will decide to keep it because _damn_ , it’s a time machine! And they know for sure it works, that’s the main reason they are here! He is sure Bruce will want to give it a good look too.

He giggles happily, anticipating the moment they will start to study it, and steps forward, focusing on the complicated keys and buttons that his mind hurries to analyze. He gasps and jumps a little when the portal slowly turns on, probably activated by his presence, a white, dense light filling it, similar to fog.

“Wade! Guys! It works! It’s on!” he shouts, turning back to the team, who just stopped fighting; Wade, the Hulk and Iron Man are bringing the wounded and webbed scientists at the center of the room, Captain America, Thor and Wolverine are collecting and destroying all the weapons and looking around the place, a bad lit, decaying warehouse in the middle of nowhere.

“Spider-Man! Don’t touch anything yet!” Iron Man shouts back, with a hint of personal excitement; he sounds thrilled by the idea of putting his hands on a time machine as well, but he has to appear professional and strict in front of Rogers.

“Do you think we could go back in time and bring Bea Arthur here??” Wade asks, bouncing and clapping his hands. “Oooh, can you imagine? A living Bea Arthur, finally back to her beloved fans!”

“These guys wanted to bring back different kind of people, I am sure.” Rogers muses grimly while Wade continues listing all dead celebrities’ names.

“Hulk wants to meet Frank Sinatra…” Hulk agrees when Wade mentions him. Wade looks at Peter from the other side of the room, grins and starts singing ‘Moon River’, a hand on his heart, the other up high in the air.

“Stop serenating your boyfriend.” Wolverine growls while Peter giggles and blushes, Rogers taps his foot on the floor following the rhythm and the Hulk swings his head back and forth.

“We should start interrogating these people.” Logan continues, glaring at Wade who abandoned the scientists to slowly walk towards Peter. “And ask them… oh, for fuck’s sake, Wilson! Shut your mouth!”

“What?!” Wade barks, stopping in the middle of the room. “Don’t interrupt the moment, you rude hairy prick!” He begins to say some pretty crude stuff to the mutant, who replies without problems, and Peter sighs fondly, deciding to focus back on the time machine until they are done.

He gets closer to the portal, observing its reaction, the light, the sounds; his fingers itch, long for the keyboard and his eyes can’t wait to read all the info on the screen. Just when he is heading towards the console, there is a distinct, loud sound, the light gets brighter, blinding, and Peter has to stop to shield his face.

“H-Hey!” he hears Iron Man yell in the distance, then Wade: “ _Peter!_ ”

He manages to look at the portal, only to have dread fill him to the bones; he is being sucked in and it doesn’t matter how much he sticks to the floor, how strong the webs he shoots at the opposite walls are. The portal is an unrelenting force and Peter stumbles, falls on the ground and feels his inside twist and turn, not because of fear - albeit he is feeling it and it’s _enormous_ -, but because his same essence, his body and mind are being dematerialized to be carried into a different time.  

“Wade!” he screams, nails scraping the ground. His leg…! His leg is already gone, lost into the white fog!

The others are coming and Wade is the first one running to him; Peter shoots a web at his feet and cries out: “Grab that! Don’t come near me, it will suck you in too!”

“For fuck’s sake, we have to destroy it!” the merc roars, but does as he’s told, pulling the web, gritting his teeth and flexing his muscles.

“No! He is already inside, he could lose some limbs!” Iron Man explains and not even the robotic voice caused by the suit can’t hide his panic.

“The Man of Spiders is being dragged farther!” Thor yells, going behind the billionaire to help him.

“Pull! Faster!” Wade shouts, his voice filled with horror and a fear bigger than Peter’s. “Pull!”

The others arrive to help him and for a moment it seems that their strength is enough, especially thanks to the Hulk; however Peter is way too in and the portal doesn’t let him go, slowly dragging him until his head is the only visible thing. It doesn’t hurt, but it isn’t pleasant either; his whole body is aching, his brain and cells screaming in confusion because they cannot understand what they have to do, where their place is at.

“Wade!” Peter cries out one last time, before his grip on the web becomes weaker and he is completely in.

The last thing he sees is Wade falling on his knees and extending a hand towards him.  
  
  


\- - -  
  
  


Silence fills the room, interrupted only by the mercenary’s heavy panting and the scientists’ groans. Then a whisper: “Told ya we had to fix that shit, Jim.”

Wade’s head snaps towards the group of men tied at the center of the room; two scientists are still conscious and they gulp when he approaches them, his stance similar to a predator’s, his creepy mask sending bad, murderous vibes.

“What did you say?” he growls and one of the scientists gulps again.

Wade grabs him by the collar and shakes him, roaring in his face: “What the fuck did you say?! Is the machine broken?! What happened to Spidey?!”

“T-The machine works fine!” the scientist squeals, his eyes glued to the red and black mask, sweat running down his forehead. “I swear, the machine works! Its only fault is… is what you just saw. It’s dangerous to go near it when it’s activated.”

“Who did activate it?” Steve asks, glaring down at him, and the other scientist intervenes, his voice steadier than his colleague’s: “Spider-Man himself. The machine was already on when you arrived, it was in stand-by mode. By walking near it, Spider-Man activated it again, but got sucked in.” He raises his chin defiantly and Wade’s hand moves dangerously near a gun holster. “He should have been more careful.”

“Find him. Bring him back here.” the merc orders, his voice low, but the first scientist shakes his head: “That’s not possible. Not… not yet, at least.”

“You said it _worked!_ ” Wade wraps his fingers around his neck and the other man wheezes, clawing at his glove: “I-It _does_ work! But after it has been used, it’s not possible to look immediately for the ‘intruder’ in the past! It will require some time and…”

“How much?” Wade’s voice doesn’t bode well for the two men, but the second one is reckless and prideful and coldly answers: “At least an entire day. Then the machine can be used to track down your friend and open a new portal to bring him back home.”

“The _whole day_?” the merc gasps and slowly rises, turning back to look at the now inactive, empty portal. Only the console seems to be still working: there are numbers and various loading bars on the screen, the buttons are flashing and tiny, acute noises fill the dark corner.

“I don’t doubt Spider-Man’s abilities.” Rogers begins to say and Wade’s heart almost skips a beat when he sees worry on his usually blank or confident face. “However… we must know where… _when_ that thing brought him.”

“Jesus!” Wade whimpers, hands on his head. “It’s true! He could be in the _future_! Or… What if he is with dinosaurs and all that prehistoric shit?! We already went into the Savage Lands, but it’s not the same thing! What if he is in the Middle Age? French Revolution? Italy during the plague?” He makes a strangled sound, imagining his baby boy in the middle of a half-dead town or chased by angry peasants.

“Wilson that knows something about history… now _this_ is more surprising than a time machine.” Wolverine jokes under his breath, before Wade points a gun at his head.

“Peter is in deep shit and all you care about is mocking me?” he roars. “Not cool, dude!”

“I know you are worried. I am too, I swear.” Logan sighs, pushing the gun away. “But there is nothing we can do until the portal works again. Stop panicking so much.”

“You can’t tell me _not_ to panic, Logan! My boyfriend is…!”

“Guys! Guys, please calm down!” Iron Man yells, deciding to bring the attention back to the main, important topic before things get worse. He turns to the two scientists and folds his arms. “Where is exactly our friend now? Are the time and place random? Or did you program the machine before we arrived?”

“You better tell the truth or I am gonna put all my bullets into your fucking mouth.” Wade growls, leaning down to talk face to face with the first, quivering scientist. The man shakes his head frantically and answers, not daring to look at Wade and preferring to focus on Iron Man instead: “I can’t tell where Spider-Man is…”

Wade growls again.

“B-But what I do know is that he can be only in the past, in America, in a time range of 10-40 years.”

“So… he could be in the New York of one year ago or in the Alabama of 30 years ago?” Steve suggests and sighs when the scientist nods.

“Everything went better than expected.” Thor comments with a shrug and Wade glares at him.

“Don’t start spewing memes, Thunder-boy! The situation is _serious_! Peter is lost and alone, away from home, away from his time, away from… from _me_ and…”

The merc swallows a hard lump in his throat and looks away, fists clenched at his sides, chest heaving; the group falls silent for a while, then Iron Man puts a hand on his helmet and announces: “I am going to call S.H.I.E.L.D. to take care of these guys. Then we will spend the rest of the day here and wait for the machine to come back to life and tell us where and when Spidey is.”

“Spider-Man must be scared.” Hulk mumbles, glancing at the portal and at the screen still filled with bars, numbers and letters. “He didn’t exist so many years ago. Hulk would be scared to be in a place he is not supposed to be in.”

Another kind of silence, heavier and way more awkward than the one before, settles in the room, then Wade starts wailing, clutching his head: “Oh God almighty, what if he changes the future?? What if he changes the present and… and… and _kills_ himself and stop existing or…”

“You are right! His presence could alter the reality!” Rogers exclaims then looks at Iron Man, waiting for his confirmation: “Is that right? That’s possible, isn’t it?”

“I… well, _yes_ …” even if his face is hidden by the helmet, Stark appears to be very scared. “Yes, that’s definitely possible. And it’s a huge problem. A gigantic problem. _Shit_.”

“You! Green guy!” Wade shrieks, pointing at the Hulk, who blinks in surprise. “Stop being green and help us! Team up with Stark’s brain and fix this!”

“That’s racist.” the Hulk mutters, narrowing his eyes, and Wade snarls, raising his arms up in the air.

“Just… just turn human again! Maybe you can use that machine before the whole freaking day is over!”

“We should call the others.” Logan says, scowling at the group of unconscious scientists and the two that still are awake, despite their bleeding and wounds. “We need to take away these assholes and interrogate them.”

“We will also have to spend the day here, like Tony said.” Rogers adds, scratching his head and looking around. “We have to monitor the situation.”

“Not a problem for me. I won’t go home until Spidey is here again.” Wade says, walking over to some crates and sitting on one of them. His eyes move to the portal and he fidgets, his masked features showing worry and all the love he has for Peter.

“We will find him, son.” Rogers says gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I promise you.”

“What if something happens to him?” Wade murmurs, eyes still fixated on the machine. “What if… what if he is in danger and… and I am not there to help him…”

“He is a clever man. He won’t get into trouble.” Rogers reassures him and Wade finally turns his head to look up at him, an hopeful expression visible under his tight mask. The super soldier smiles. “And I am sure he is aware of the risks an outer presence can cause in a different time. He will stay hidden and wait for us.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt him! Knowing him, he already understood what happened, where he is and what he has to do to come back.” Wade chuckles, love clear in his voice. “I just… I just don’t like this. I want him to be safe and sound.”

“He will be. Do not fear, Wilson.” Starks promises again, squeezing his shoulder and leaving to discuss with Stark about what they should tell Fury and the other Avengers.

Wade’s eyes move back to the machine and he lets out a trembling sigh.  
  


Half an hour later S.H.I.E.L.D. arrives. Rogers explains the situation to a fuming Fury, the scientists are taken away (not before Wade can glare and curse at them one last time) and food supplies and sleeping bags are left for the team, so that they can rest in the warehouse and keep an eye on the machine.

Stark shows the Hulk photos of puppies and Bruce Banner slowly regains his human form, wobbling slightly before taking a deep breath and pinching the bridge of his nose. Wasp, who arrived with the rest of the team and Fury, offers him clean clothes and his pair of glasses, before heading to Rogers.

“I will take care of the Avengers Tower and protect the city while you are here.” she says with a bright smile, then she notices Wade, now sitting right in front of the portal, and her feature softens. “Poor dear. He didn’t take it well, did he?”

“It’s been a little shock, yeah.” Rogers sighs. He shakes her hand and offers her a tired smile. “Thank you, Janet. I will let you know if something changes.”

“No problem, Steve. Leave the city to us.” she looks back at Natasha, Jessica and Carol, who are respectively examining the surroundings, listening intently to Thor and talking with a still nervous Fury.

They soon go back to New York, leaving the men in the warehouse, wishing them good luck. After arranging the sleeping bags and taking out some food to eat later, Rogers and the others join Wade in front of the time machine. Bruce is the first to get to work, studying accurately the screen and messages on it.

Wade wakes up from his mild shock, his eyes lively, filled with fire and energy, and abandons the crate to move next to the scientist, who tenses up a bit, but lets him stay.

“So?? Can you do something?” the mercenary asks with panic and hope mixed together; Banner pushes the glasses on his nose and answers slowly: “The machine is loading. It consumed a lot of energy to bring Parker to the past, so it will take a while before it can be used again. Those scientists weren’t lying.”

“B-But…!” Wade looks at the machine, then at Banner, then at the machine again. “But you can make it load faster, right? We need to know where Peter is and how we can save him!”

“We also have to make sure time itself isn’t modified thanks to this little trip.” Stark grumbles and Banner, maybe annoyed by the heavy responsibility everyone is putting on him, glares at them both.

“I can’t make the machine load faster and I am sorry for that. However, I think I know what to do to avoid any consequence here in the present.” He sighs, glancing at the numbers he has scribbled down on a piece of paper. “I just need to study the machine and see if I can modify it a little. To do that, we need to wait.” He looks at Wade, his gaze telling him not to insist.

“Fine.” the merc snarls, walking away and sitting back on the crate, his eyes drilling a hole in the empty, lifeless portal. “The whole day, right?”

“Most likely.”

“Fucking great.” he mutters, rolling the mask up to his nose and passing a hand over his bare, scarred chin. “Fantastic.”

“It’s gonna be okay.” Stark says, his helmet up so that his face is visible. “Believe me, Wilson, we are going to save him.” He gestures at the food and adds, trying to lift his spirits: “Why don’t we eat something in the meantime? I asked Fury to bring good stuff.”

When Wade refuses to eat and keeps staring at the portal like it will turn on in a second, the team fully realizes how worried he is. They move some crates and boxes next to his and eat with him, keeping him company. At first the merc is surprised, even awkward, not knowing how to react or what to say; he doesn’t even joke or talk too much like he usually does, but in the end he begrudgingly accepts a sandwich and continues to look at the portal and the beeping machine Banner is keeping under control as well.

 _‘Peter…’_ he thinks, swallowing a small, tasteless bite. _‘Please, baby boy, be careful. I will be there soon.’_  
  
  


\- - -  
  
  


The first thing Peter feels once he wakes up is a terrible, unpleasant coldness that seems to cover him fully. He stirs, groans and slowly opens his eyes.

White. White everywhere.

It takes a while for him to understand what the hell he is looking at, then it hits him: he is immersed in snow, pure, candid, _freezing_ snow. He then remembers the warehouse, the time machine, the struggle against it and Wade’s shock at watching him disappear beyond the portal.

Peter sharply looks back at his legs; they are fine and apparently he still has all the rest of his body in good conditions. Nothing is missing, so he forces himself to stand up despite the cold and aching muscles.

“Well… at least I am sure I am not in the future.” he mumbles when he spots some old cars abandoned in the large, empty field he is in. He doesn’t know their models, but he can recognize an obsolete one when he sees it.

The buildings around him seems to be pretty old-fashioned too; they are falling apart, long forgotten, windows shattered and doors barred. He tries to understand where he could be by the style - Europe? Asia? America? -, but he’s unable to do so.

“I could be anywhere.” he sighs, scratching his head. The spandex doesn’t offer much protection against the cold and his nose is already running, his mouth is already chapped. He licks his lips and a deep, painful longing hits him, because they remind him of Wade’s.

“God, he must be so worried.” the young man murmurs and wonders if he should stay here, waiting for help, or look for it somewhere else. He doesn’t know how the time machine works, if Wade and the team are already preparing everything to succor him. They could appear here, in the same place he ended up being in, or maybe it’s not that easy… he doesn’t know.

After pondering for a long time, he decides to move. He can’t stay here, freezing to death; he should at least find somewhere warmer and safe. He is sure the time machine has some tracking device incorporated in it that will help Wade and the others find him; and even if it doesn’t, Banner will build it and locate him in the folds of time.

He sees a town in the distance, barely visible due to the snow, but it’s definitely there. Peter doesn’t know the year nor the place, but he can’t be much far from his time. Maybe twenty, twenty-five years from his present…?

“I need a newspaper.” the hero mutters, rubbing his arms as he walks fast towards the main road. He realizes how he is dressed and gulps, fearing eventual meetings with people. “Okay… think, Peter, think… if you are really twenty years back or so, then the Avengers already exist. People will think you are a new superhero or something like that.”

 _‘Or a pervert.’_ a tiny voice in the back of his mind chimes in and Peter shivers, both from the cold and the shame.

“Oh, Wade, so this is how it feels like to have voices in your head!” he whimpers, speeding up.

He arrives at the outskirts of the town when the gray sky has turned almost dark; he is hungry, tired, terribly cold and can’t feel his feet anymore. So, when he sees a series of houses at the side of the road, his heart makes a jump. He supposes he can ask for some help and information, showing freely his face, since, if his calculation is right, he shouldn’t even be born in this time…

“W-Wait!” he gasps almost out loud. “It’s true, I am in the past! I… I could change the future!”

He knows too well about the consequences and risks of time travel, about time paradoxes and how even the littlest thing can influence the biggest. What if a single word, a single gesture, erase completely something - or _someone_ \- existing in his time? What if he changes history? He shouldn’t be there, after all, he is an intruder, a new piece for a puzzle that has been already completed.

Maybe the time machine can control and take care of this, he thinks, more hoping it than really knowing it. Maybe Banner and Stark will come up with something after saving him. He can’t stay in this cold any longer; he already slept in the snow and his body has been badly affected by it.

Still, he knows he must be careful; there is a barrel with wood and paper burning in it in the garden of the first house at his right. Instead of heading to the door and asking for help - help he may not even receive, if the people here don’t speak English -, he tip-toes towards the barrel, trying to avoid the small, dirty windows, and sighs in relief when his hands are hit by a regenerating warmth.

Peter cautiously looks around for any sign of life; the road is desert and there are no lights inside the house. He decides to stay and enjoy the warm barrel a little more; he has no idea of what he is going to do, but for now he needs to feel his fingers again and the warmth will help him come up with some ideas.

He manages to spend only a few minutes around the fire, though. He suddenly hears a shout - a manly, slurring, furious voice screams inside the house and for a frightening moment he thinks he has been seen.

But the voice isn’t talking to him, because it says: “Go back to your fucking room!”

A big noise is heard and another voice - way younger, scared and tiny - yelps; Peter stiffens, his eyes glued to a window of the house. He waits for more, but silence falls back in and the only noises in the garden now are the whistling wind and the crackling fire.

A child… that was definitely a child. And the noise before that yelp was unmistakable, a slap or a painful blow on the face.

This may not be his time, but Peter is still a hero and heroes help people, no matter what. It’s risky, it’s dangerous, he may get in huge trouble and cause a disaster, but if there is really an abused child in that house, he has to do something.

He forgets about the comfy fire and crouches, heading to the wall; the wood is rotting, it’s damp and soft, and there must be much humidity and mold in the rooms inside. He can stick to it with no problems, though, and does so, crawling to the first floor, more precisely towards a window where a small light, invisible from the garden, is coming from. That must be the child’s room.

He peeks inside, squinting in the darkness; a tiny lamp next to a bed offers the weak light he has seen, but it’s definitely not enough to lit the room in a decent way. There is a kid on the bed, just like he thought; long, blond, messy hair falls near his face. Peter can’t see him well, but by the way his shoulders are shaking and his chest is heaving, it’s clear the little one is crying.

Peter feels a burning rage directed at the man who dared to hit the boy; now that he can see him, he wonders what he should do. Knock on the glass, tell him he is a new hero and comfort him? What if this simple action changes something important in the future?

_‘I am here now. Better help a poor child than do nothing. Hell, his life could even get better! Not all consequences are bad, after all!’_

Peter clears his throat, but the kid is still sobbing, head bowed down, and the young man’s heart swells with sympathy and sadness.

 _‘If Wade was here…’_ he thinks with a fond smile. _‘… he would punch that man until his teeth are all out and talk with the kid about Bea Arthur and food.’_

He knocks on the window, gently, and the boy finally gasps and looks up. Peter sees his blue, bloodshot, puffy eyes lock with his and holds his breath. Those eyes…

The boy approaches the window, mouth hanging open, and slides the pan upwards, gawking at Peter.

“H-Hi!” the man whispers, waving an hand. The kid realizes what he is doing, how he is sticking to the wall without actually hanging onto something, and pales. Now that he is nearer, Peter can see his face better and sadness hits him again when he notices the bruise on a corner of his mouth.

“Who…” the boy babbles, then stops, clears his voice and tries again: “W-Who are you?”

Peter sighs with relief when he hears him speak English. The accent is familiar, but for now he doesn’t focus on that and hurries to answer: “I am a hero! I mean no harm, I swear! I am an Avenger.”

The boy narrows his eyes, confused and wary, and Peter hastily corrects himself: “W-Well, I am not officially part of the team yet, but I am training hard! Look.” he rummages into the tiny pocket in his pants he made with webs and takes out his Avenger, shiny-looking card. He is perfectly aware of its modern look and logo, but that’s what he needs to convince the boy.

“See? This is the special card they give to newbies.”

“I never saw this kind of logo before.” the kid mutters, still distrustful, but there is a hint of doubt on his round face. Yeah, his face… Peter can’t stop looking at it, it’s telling him something, but he doesn’t know what. He doesn’t want to freak the boy out, though, so he quickly averts his eyes from his bright, blue ones and says: “That’s because it’s the secret logo the Avengers use with people in training! We are the only ones who know and use this.”

The kid looks at him and now his features are filled with hope, surprise and awe. His lips curl into a toothy smile and he peeks outside, admiring Peter’s costume, the way he is sticking to the wall, his mask.

“Dude, you are a spider! You can crawl on the wall!”

“If I manage to enter the team, I am gonna call myself Spider-Man.” Peter grins, then he awkwardly asks, nodding at the room: “Listen, I had to do a mission for Captain America, but things didn’t go like we planned and now I am stuck here. Can… Can I enter for a second?”

_‘God, I hope I didn’t sound too creepy.’_

The kid seems a bit hesitant, but another look at Peter’s abilities and costume convinces him and he motions the hero to enter. Before Peter can put a feet inside, though, the child stops him with a hand and a huge scowl.

“Don’t try anything stupid or I am gonna smash your head with a chair. Got it?”

“Uh…” Peter blinks at him, taken aback by the aggressiveness in his face and voice, but guesses it’s completely justifiable.

“Don’t worry, I am really a superhero! I won’t do anything weird, I promise.”

The kid’s features immediately relax and his toothy smile comes back.

“Okay, then! Come on, hop in! Your butt must be more frozen than a popsicle.”

“Thank you!”

Peter swiftly jumps in, careful not to make too much noise, and smiles at the kid who is closing the window.

“So… you… you know Captain America?” the little one asks, his eyes shimmering with excitement and joy, and for a moment he looks so familiar Peter has to think twice about his question before his brain can respond.

“… Huh? Oh, yes, yes! He is a great man and always treats everyone nicely.”

“He is my hero!” the kid giggles, jumping up and down, and grabs Peter by the sleeve, bringing him to the bed. The wall behind the headboard is covered by posters of Rogers, attached with scotch-tape and pins. Peter smiles, thinking about his childhood and how he used to do the same.

“They are beautiful.” he says with sincerity and the child shows a cocky, smug smile, tiny hands on his hips.

“Of course they are! I am the best at collecting Captain America’s stuff! I am his biggest fan!”

The sense of familiarity is stronger, now, and Peter’s eyes move from the posters to the kid, who has opened a drawer in a battered, messy desk and is looking for something into it. His clothes looks clean, but cheap and way too light for this weather, and there are small holes here and there; his golden hair is long and it has obviously not been brushed in a long time. Apart from the one near his mouth, Peter sees other bruises, one on the neck, two partially hidden by a short sleeve and one on his wrist. He bites his lips, thinking with rage about the man that is most likely downstairs, doing who knows what.

The kid still hasn’t found what he needs, so Peter examines the room; it’s small and, as he suspected, there are stains of humidity on the ceiling; the bed has only one blanket, the wardrobe is missing a handle, cold drafts enter from the two windows and a slightly crooked bookshelf is filled with books, comics and some tiny action figures of Captain America and Bucky. There isn’t much else in the room; Peter vaguely sees the shape of a baseball bat, a guitar and a mirror in the other side of the room, then he looks back at the desk. There are drawings, papers and colored pencils scattered on it and an old, red backpack is resting on the chair. Some books are forgotten in a corner of the wooden, scratched surface, piled without order.

Peter’s attentive eyes find a newspaper popping out from under a box of crayons; he doesn’t want to scare the kid by going too near him, but he needs to know the date. He slowly leans in, squinting his eyes in the bad lit room, and has to stifle a gasp.

Apparently, he is in Canada, twenty-five years back in the past, just like he thought.

_‘Canada…’_

“Found it! Uh, fucking finally…” the kid grumbles, then turns to him, his smile almost blinding. Peter stares at him and the more he looks at him, the more the sensation of familiarity and a slight panic grow. The child is showing him a huge collage of Captain America’s photos, with a colored, childish text written next to each of them.

“I decided to make something original! It’s still not complete, but I made it aaaall by myself! There are some super rare photos here, dude!”

“That’s…” Peter breathes deeply before continuing, hoping the mask can hide how weak his smile is. “That’s very well done, kid.”

And the shy pride and happiness he sees on the child’s face - _his eyes…!_ \- are so familiar to him, so similar to ones he has already seen, Peter has to step back and sit somewhere. The only free space is the bed and he sits on the edge of it, distractingly noticing how weak the springs of the mattress are.

Then he sees something else; near the lamp, on the nightstand, there is a frame. Another photo, not of Captain America or another superhero, but the photo of a young woman, with blond, mid short hair and bright, blue eyes. She is smiling at the camera, a few flowers in her hands, her smile sweet and sad at the same time.

Peter has already seen a photo identical to that one; he has seen it only one time, but remembers every detail of it, and would recognize it anywhere.

The kid must have followed his gaze because he says, his voice low, sad, nostalgic: “That’s my mom.”

Peter has heard these words before too, pronounced in a similar tone, by someone who had the child’s same eyes, the same smile, the same giggle.

He slowly turns his head to look at the little one and asks, his voice a raspy whisper: “What’s your name, kid?”

The boy returns his stare and blushes, clutching at the collage still in his hands. Then he smiles sadly, as if his name doesn’t really matter, but happy to have been asked it, and answers:

“Wade. Wade Wilson.”


	2. Expression Of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for any typo. This chapter annihilated my heart, soul and day. Enjoy! ;v;

Peter has to inhale and exhale multiple times before he can speak. His brain - which usually can accept even the strangest things, especially since he is with Wade - is like dead, every synapse is turned off, every logical thought is gone. Only a lingering, deep bewilderment, mixed with sympathy, fear and panic, is all that it’s left inside his head.

The boy - _Wade! He is Wade!_ \- of course notices his stupor and blushes again, frowning to hide his discomfort and shyness. Peter knows what he is thinking: he fears he said something wrong, that his name is ugly, that he somehow offended the hero sitting on his bed. Peter knows Wade more than he knows himself and even though the face he is looking at is smooth, young and round, he could recognize the emotions passing through it even blindfolded.

“It’s a beautiful name.” he says, rolling the mask up to his nose to show a reassuring smile. “I love it!”

Wade’s blush deepens and the child tilts his head down to hide his smile. Some things never change, Peter thinks with love. The adult Wade does the same exact thing when he gets a compliment and doesn’t know how to reply.

“Your mom is very beautiful too.” Peter continues, his eyes moving to the frame. He remembers the first and only time he saw it, back when he and Wade had moved together in their new apartment. Wade took it out from his small luggage and Peter was able to see it.

_“It’s my mom.”_

On his face there was the same sad smile Peter has just seen on the boy’s lips. He asked Wade to put the photo together with the others in the living room, because him mother was part of their family too. But Wade quietly hid it away, shaking his head, both to thank him for the kind offer and refuse it.

Seeing it again, without his permission, leaves Peter with a guilt he doesn’t know how to bear. It’s like he had taken the frame out of the drawer Wade put it into and ignored his explicit request to keep it away. So he averts his eyes from the image of the poor woman and puts them back on the child.

How did he not recognize him immediately? Everything about him screams about the Wade that is waiting for him in his time. His eyes are the same and they are what Peter is most drawn to. So lively and cheerful, a joke ready behind the bright, blue glance; but there is also melancholy in them, a big pain that speaks of a difficult childhood, an already difficult life, a heavy burden, all caused by the man downstairs.

Peter knows something of Wade’s early life, of course; the merc talked to him about it, but never in great detail. He mentioned his father only four or five times, while cleaning the dishes, watching TV or caressing Peter’s hair in bed. His tone was always neutral, calm, collected, as if talking about it normally could chase away the horror and pain; his eyes, though, were filled with the same, big shadow Peter can now see again in little Wade’s gaze.

He knows his father beat him, that he didn’t care for him, that he loved only “himself and his shitty beer”. He knows he is one of the main things that caused many of Wade’s problems later on, one of the foundations of his issues.

And he also realizes, cold sweat running down his back and forehead, that he cannot do a single thing to change it. His presence here is wrong, dangerous for the future and time balance, he probably has already made a huge mess; he can’t intervene, he can’t change what already happened, what already made Wade who he is.

Clenching his fingers against the rough blanket on the bed, Peter asks gently, praying his voice won’t shake too much: “You look like her a lot.”

Little Wade, who has been staring at the picture the whole time with a small smile, jumps a little, startled by those words, and stares at him, mouth agape.

“Really?!” he asks, incredulous, and Peter has to held back a confused expression that would show through the mask. How can he not see it? Their eyes, their hair, their smiles and their faces are almost identical. Peter doesn’t know how his father looks like, but Wade definitely inherited a lot from his mother.

He has noticed this only now; when he first saw that picture, Wade was holding it and he couldn’t give it a good look. He is sure, though, that he would have found those same similarities even then, even if adult Wade doesn’t have his young self’s hair and normal skin anymore.

 _‘Yes.’_ Peter thinks, looking at the framed smile again. _‘He still looks like his mom.’_

“You are pretty like her.” he insists, turning back at the child with a big smile, and Wade blushes for the third time, his fingers digging into the collage still in his hands.

“Thanks.” he mumbles, looking down, and Peter realizes another thing; nobody ever told Wade he was pretty, not even when he was a kid and his hair was golden like the sun and his face smooth. He bites his lips, fighting the urge to drown him in sweet words and compliments like he does with adult Wade.

“So… umh…” little Wade looks around until his eyes are back on Peter again. “I know superheroes can’t talk about their missions and all their super-secret stuff, but…” he grins, bouncing up and down, holding tight the collage of Captain America against his chest. “What was your mission? Cool shit?”

Peter frowns. “Don’t say that word.” he grumbles, without really putting sternness in his voice. “And my mission… well… it was cool, I guess.” He leans in, whispering, a grin on his face: “We fought bad scientists! They created a dangerous machine and we had to stop them from using it!”

“Damn, that sounds so awesome!” Little Wade jumps on the bed and looks up at him with stars in his eyes. “Did Cap use his shield? And Iron Man? Did he upgrade his suit? It looks so weird and funny, I can never take him seriously.”

Peter snorts, imagining the little one’s face if he knew how Stark’s suit is now.

“I heard he wants to modify it, yeah.”

“Good.” Wade grins smugly. “It looks like a fucking suppository.”

“Don’t swear.” Peter nudges him, smiling despite the authoritative tone he should use. He can’t bring himself to criticize the boy, though, and Wade sees that and sticks out his tongue at him. Peter does the same and the child giggles and pokes him on a rib.

“Where are the Avengers now?” he asks, continuing to poke him until Peter pushes his hand away. He gasps, in awe. “Are they _here_?”

“Uh…” Peter clears his throat and shakes his head. “No. I lost them. There was an incident and…” He shrugs, trying to come up with a good explanation that doesn’t involve time travel, weird confessions like ‘I am your boyfriend from the future’ and complicated stuff. “And now I am stuck here. I was looking for help when I heard…” he stops, but his alarmed, sad stare is enough for Wade to understand what he is referring to.

The boy turns his head down and looks at his feet dangling from the bed. Peter sees little cuts and bruises on his knees and ankles, but those don’t seem to be caused by a human hand. They are more like the innocuous wounds that every child gets while playing.

 _‘Does he have friends? Maybe things are better at school…’_ Peter thinks, although he highly doubts so; he sees only loneliness in this room and in the way Wade’s head is bowed down.

He shouldn’t ask this - he shouldn’t pry into his boyfriend’s childhood like this -, but the child’s tiny shoulders are shaking and his knuckles turned white, his grip on the precious collage almost painful. The words leave Peter’s mouth before he can stop himself.

“Does… does your dad hurt you?”

He already knows the answer and the question sounds terribly stupid, but little Wade seems _relieved_. He probably never talked about this with anyone, never vented about his horrible conditions at home.

_‘Another change in his life. God, what if the future is changing right now, as we speak? What if I just erased my Wade from existence?’_

He can’t think and panic more about it because little Wade answers, his voice cracking, low and timid: “He is not a good dad.”

_“My dad was a fucking asshole.”_

The second question is a bit different; more personal, less taken for granted and trivial. Peter asks it, looking for the causes that make his Wade cautious around people and sad when he sees fathers and sons together at the park. He looks for solutions, for ways to soothe his boyfriend’s pain once he is back in his time. He can’t do anything here and that thought makes his lips tremble and his breath hitch in his throat.

“Why does he hurt you?”

_“He never loved me. I am not even sure he loved mom. He… shit, look, a Golden Girls rerun!”_

Little Wade reaches out for the photo on the nightstand and tenderly touches the glass with the other hand, brushing his fingertips over his mother’s face. Peter holds his breath, lost into the fresh, recent suffering he sees etched on that face; it’s different from the matured, old pain adult Wade can hide so well, and at the same time it’s not different at all.

“Because mom is dead and I am not.”

Peter is no stranger to mentions of death and suicide. When Uncle Ben died, his mind was filled with dark, bad thoughts; during the first months of his and Wade’s relationship, when the voices still haunted Wade’s days and nights, Peter could often hear him mutter things like “bullets, I need bullets in my brain” and “the world would be better off without me”. Things got well over time and the voices disappeared, but yes, Peter is used to that kind of topic.

He is not used to hear a _child_ say these things, though. Especially not if the child is Wade.

_‘He wished to die even when he was so young?’_

The emotions he sees on the kid’s face are answer enough.

 _ _‘_ It’s not fair.’ _Peter thinks, biting the inside of his mouth to stop the tears, which are already blurring his sight. He can’t cry in front of the child. He must be strong for him.

But Wade is stronger than him. His lips curl into a smile, an impossible feat after saying something like that, and his voice loses almost all traces of sadness and longing.

“It’s okay though! I am gonna be just like Captain America, so I can’t let this stupid stuff stop me!” he springs up on his feet, hands on his hips again, and raises proudly his chin: “I am gonna be a hero and heroes are strong and brave!”

Peter’s heart is threating to burst. He knows how much Wade admires Captain America - who doesn’t? Who wouldn’t? -, he knows how much he tried to leave the mercenary world to become someone like him.

 _‘And like_ me _.’_ he remembers, thinking about Wade’s happy face when he told him he was his idol and wanted to learn his ways, way before they got together.

He looks at the photo, now on the bed, for the millionth time. Wade’s mother, who died of cancer. The same cancer that will affect her son and lead him to accept an offer, a promise, the possibility to become the hero he so much desires to be.

The same cancer that still burns his skin and reminds him of his failure at Weapon X, the same illness that made him who he is.

Peter looks at Wade and smiles, even though he wants to sob. He is not ill yet, he has no idea of what is going to happen. He only wants to leave this house and be loved, appreciated, respected.

How would he react if he knew what awaits him?

 _‘Is the Wade of the future happy now? Is he happy with me?’_ Peter gulps, gripping tightly the blanket to stop his hands from shaking. _‘His body is damaged beyond repair and he suffered horrible things, but he has love now! He is working with the Avengers, even though he is not one of them!’_

He looks back at little Wade, who sees immediately how much upset he is; he blinks, probably surprised by that sadness directed at his pain, at his condition, then his smile grows.

“Don’t worry, mister Spider! It’s okay!”

But Peter can see the deep resignation in his eyes, badly hidden by a layer of fake self-confidence.

_“Don’t worry, Petey, it’s okay! My scars don’t hurt that much today.”_

Peter wonders what he should do. He is sure he already fucked up something in the future; he probably changed hundreds of things and people with this simple conversation. However, he is also sure that Banner and Stark will find a solution; they will tweak the machine or something and repair the damages he has done.

In the meantime, he can stay with little Wade. He can make his life a little better, he can put some light into it… even if it will be completely useless in the end.

 _‘What’s the point then?’_ the tiny voice he heard outside whispers. _‘You will make him happy, give him good memories and hope… but if Banner and Stark are really able to contain these changes, then it will be all for nothing, everything will stay the same. You can’t change Wade’s life. He is destined to suffer.’_

And if they are not able to repair the time paradoxes, then the Wade he loves, the Wade that loves him, will be lost forever.

Peter chews his lips, glancing at the window, then at the child, who is sitting on the bed again.

 _‘God! What should I do? I can’t leave him like this. I… I can’t abandon him, he is Wade, my Wade!’_ He clenches his fists until he hears the blanket rip and immediately relaxes his fingers. _‘But Wade is waiting for me in the future too. What should I do?’_

“Is it difficult to become heroes?” the kid suddenly asks, shyly avoiding Peter’s stare.

“I… what?”

Wade starts playing with the edge of the collage, presses the photos on it, and continues: “Do you think I would be able to do the training? I mean… is it _hard_?” He looks up at Peter, all the confidence and energy he had before gone. “Dad always says I am good for nothing. That I will probably become a delinquent.” His expression turns sad and scared. “I don’t wanna become a bad guy. I wanna be a hero just like Cap, but what if I can’t? What if it’s difficult and… and I am kicked out or…”

_‘No!’_

“No!”

Peter puts a hand on the child’s shoulder, scaring him a little with his shout and the sudden touch, and exclaims: “No, Wade, it’s not hard! I… I am sure you can do it!” Tears fill his eyes again and he continues: “Don’t listen to your dad. Don’t ever listen to him, okay? You are a good boy and I know that…”

He has to stop because his voice threatens to crack.

“That…?” Wade whispers, fidgeting.

“That you will become a fine, wonderful hero.” Peter smiles and squeezes his shoulder. “And a good man.”

Wade’s cheeks become red like fire and he snorts, rolling his eyes and pretending to be completely unaffected by the compliment.

“Well… I-I knew that! I just… you know, sometimes you need to be reassured, to have some confirmations and all that shit…”

“Don’t use that word.”

“But yeah, you are right! I can _totally_ do it. I am gonna be the best hero in America! In the world!” He laughs triumphantly and Peter ruffles his hair, making him laugh harder, until he suddenly freezes and gasps, staring at the closed door.

Peter heard them too: noises are coming from downstairs. Then a TV is turned on and a comedy show - or so it seems - fills the room below with laughs.

“Dad woke up.” Wade whispers and there is fear on his face again, not the confidence and hope he had just two seconds ago. He is still staring at the door, like he is ready to see his father storm into the room to beat and mock him. Peter instinctively grabs his hand and the child sharply turns to him.

“Listen…” the man quickly says, hoping to distract and reassure him. “We are going to be colleagues soon, right?” He winks and Wade shows a little, weak smile. “I shouldn’t do it, _but_ … I am going to make a special exception for you, okay?”

_‘Wade needs my help. This will be useless, this will never happen and Wade’s past won’t change… but I have to do this.’_

_‘And what if…’_ the little voice whispers, now scared. _‘…what if there is not a way to undo what you have changed here? What if you will lose the Wade waiting for you in the future?’_

 _‘… No.’_ Peter answers to himself as he takes off the mask in front of a young, awed Wade. _‘I know Banner and Stark will come up with something. They probably know I am inevitably changing the future, even just with my mere presence. They will find a way.’_

He extends his hand and watches as Wade timidly takes it and shakes it.

“I’m Peter Parker.” he says with another wink and the smile that appears on Wade’s face convinces that this is the right thing to do.  
  
  


\- - -  
  
  


“Steve… Steve. _Steve!_ ”

The super soldier grunts and opens one eye; Bruce’s face is right above his own, his usually mild expression replaced by a frown.

“Get up! I need to show you something.”

“The machine…” Rogers slurs, sitting up for a moment and then raising from the sleeping bag he took a nap in. “Does the machine work again?”

“Kind of.” Bruce looks around, making sure the others are still asleep. They decided to rest a little while the machine loaded, but the scientist never stopped studying it and now, after an hour and half, he motions his friend to follow him, a finger pressed on his lips.

“Don’t wake them up. Especially Wilson.”

“What?” Rogers looks back at the mercenary, snoring in his sleeping bag. It took a lot to convince him that he could nothing to help with the portal and that a good rest was the best way to spend the time.

“Why not? He is the first one who should know what’s going on.” Rogers pales and his eyebrows rise. “Is Parker in danger?”

Bruce looks troubled now and stays quiet as he presses some buttons on the console and new numbers appear on the screen.

“No, I don’t think so. But things could be better.”

“God. What do you mean?”

Rogers leans in to read the information on the screen, but he doesn’t know what they stand for and shakes his head to express all his confusion and impatience.

“Bruce, what’s going on? The machine seems to be active now.”

“It’s partially loaded, but it cannot be used. Not yet.” Bruce looks behind his shoulder and when he’s sure nobody else is awake, he continues, lowering his voice: “However I managed to track Parker. I found his temporal and spatial coordinates. We still can’t reach him, but at least we know where he is now.”

“And…?”

Bruce sighs and presses another button. A map, a more comforting and familiar image for Steve, replaces the numbers and a little circle on it indicates their friend’s position. The super soldier raises one eyebrow.

“Canada…?”

“Yes. Twenty-five years ago.”

“Well, it’s not that bad! Why are you so worried? What else did you find?”

Another button is pressed and a single word appears next to the blinking circle. This time Rogers gasps.

“God.”

“You read Wilson’s files too, didn’t you?” Bruce whispers, his tone full of sorrow and a sort of understanding for the snoring, scarred man. “You know where he was born.”

“Of all the places…” Rogers sighs, staring at the name like he can’t really believe it. “Then this means…”

“I would be freaking surprised if Parker didn’t meet a young, tiny version of his boyfriend yet.” the scientist snorts without mirth, sitting down on a chair he retrieved in the warehouse. “The town isn’t very big and Parker probably didn’t wait for our help. We can’t do anything for now anyway and he guessed it, most likely.”

“So… you mean he met…?”

“A young Wade Wilson? Yeah.” Bruce adjusts the glasses on his nose, then changes his mind and takes them off, rubbing an eye with a knuckle. “Even if that didn’t happen for some magical coincidence and a case of good luck, his presence there is enough to change our reality.”

“I feel good though. I mean…” Rogers looks down at his body, almost expecting to see it fade away. “We are still here. Janet didn’t call to say that skyscrapers and people are suddenly disappearing and Hitler is among us again.” He frowns, disgusted by the idea. “Gosh, that would be really bad.”

“I can explain that.” Bruce replies with a small smile. “This machine is gorgeous, I have to admit that. Those guys did an excellent job.” He points at the still dark, lifeless portal. “The machine is currently containing the time Parker is in. It’s like a videogame…” he stops for a second and looks at Rogers, who nods with an amused smile.

“I played some with Tony. They are quite entertaining.”

“Good.” Bruce scratches his head, thinks for a moment, then: “What was I saying…? Oh, yes! It’s like a videogame: if you want to keep all the progress you made, you have to save. The same counts for this machine. As long as Peter is in the past, playing with it, nothing happens here. Once he steps out of that portal and joins us again, thus ending the ‘game session’, all the changes he made will be automatically brought into our time and reality. Stepping out of the portal is the saving screen of the machine.”

“This means we can’t save _him_! If we bring him back here, then the machine will confirm all the things he did over there!”

“Maybe.” Bruce allows himself to smirk. “But you can also exit the game without saving.”

“And how can we do that in this case?” the super soldier sighs, glaring at the screen. “The portal is the only way out for him.”

“I can modify the machine. I can reset all the changes Parker made in the past, so that they will never be applied to our time. Basically, all his progress will be deleted, as if it never happened.”

Stark whines, rolling his eyes.

“You don’t look like the type, but you really love bragging about your inventions and good brain, don’t you, Bruce? You almost gave me a heartattack.”

“Sorry.” Bruce’s smirk grows. “It’s nice to build some good tension, once in a while.”

“Yeah.” Rogers pats his shoulder and adds, in a more serious tone: “Good job. I was very worried about this whole ‘the future will be affected’ thing. I didn’t like it one bit.”

“The machine still isn’t ready, but I can use this time to modify it. It will take some hours.” Bruce nods at Stark, who puts away his suit to sleep better and is currently snoring louder than Wade. “With his help, even less. We won’t be done until tonight, though, so feel free to do whatever you want. Maybe you can find some more interesting stuff in the warehouse, things we didn’t check or see before.” Bruce puts his glasses back on his nose and moves his eyes to Wade.

“It could also be a good excuse to distract him. He must not know where Parker is. Not yet, at least.”

“I agree.” Rogers looks back at the mercenary with a sad, painful expression. “Poor man. I can’t even imagine how Parker is feeling now. What he is probably seeing must not be… good.”

“I hope he won’t get involved too much.” Bruce sighs, shaking his head. “He doesn’t know we can reset whatever he is going to do there, so maybe he will refrain himself from influencing the past. That would be a good thing. Less pain, less regrets, less emotional stuff.”

“Or maybe he decided to trust your abilities and is doing something even though he knows it will be completely useless.” Rogers adds, still looking at Wade, his expression still somber.

“And _that_ is what worries me.” the scientist mutters, getting up and passing a hand over his tired face. “Come on, let me update this freaking thing.”  
  
  


\- - -  
  
  


Wade puts a hand on his chest and raises the other one, declaiming: “I, Wade Wilson, solemnly swear on the bro-code that I won’t reveal Peter Parker’s identity to anyone, not even under torture, not even in a million years.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Peter laughs, ruffling his hair again, and Wade pouts.

“No, it’s important! If we are going to be colleagues, we must trust each other.” the child rises his pinkie finger and Peter, chuckling, wraps his own around it.

“Pinkie promise!”

“Pinkie promise.”

Wade seems to have regained all his energies and cheerfulness now. He shows Peter the costumes he drew for when he will become a hero, the sketches of the gadgets he would like to use, the elaborate descriptions of his future missions and rewards. The more he sees, the more Peter feels like his heart is being stabbed, but he doesn’t stop the child. They talk softly to avoid the monster downstairs and the little, gray room looks suddenly bigger, more beautiful and brighter. Even the lamp on the nightstand looks like a little sun.

“You will put a good word for me, right?” Wade’s eyes are half pleading, half smug, like he is joking, but at the same time he is not. “I can show you my moves later in the garden, when dad will be asleep again!”

“I don’t need to see your moves.” Peter laughs, brushing back his messy, blond hair so it won’t be in front of his eyes. “I can already see the talent in you.” His chest hurts and his eyes burn, but he hasn’t cried yet, not even when Wade showed him a drawing of himself, grown up, celebrated and loved by all New York after saving some people from a fire.

“Can I see your powers then?” Wade asks, tugging at his sleeve and making his best puppy eyes. They are even more effective when he is a child. “You can crawl on walls, right? What else, what else?”

Peter looks out of the window, humming. It’s still snowing and the wind got pretty strong. Also, the sky is completely dark and a glance at the alarm on the nightstand confirms his suspicions: it’s 8:30PM, not a good hour to go out and swing with the webs. Not during a storm like this.

“I will show you tomorrow. When the weather will be better.” Seeing Wade’s disappointed pout, he adds with a chuckle: “I guess I can show you a little preview now, though.”

He flicks his wrists towards the ceiling and starts making a hammock to sleep in; hopefully Wade’s dad won’t enter the room and even if he does, the webs are partially hidden in the dark and by the wardrobe. It’s a good corner and Peter turns his right wrist one last time before cutting off the white thread.

“Done!”

“ _Holy shit!_ ”

Wade runs to the hammock and touches it with a finger, giggling.

“It’s so cool! So soft and tough!” His eyes lit up and he turns to Peter, grinning: “It’s a hand-made bed!”

“Jesus.” Peter snorts, shooting a web at him and dragging him back to the bed, making him giggle again. “We need to work on your puns, boy.”

“My puns are fucking spectacular!”

“Don’t use that word.” Peter pokes his side and Wade chortles, trying to dodge the finger. The man smiles at him and pats his back.

“Aren’t you hungry? It’s almost 9PM, you know?”

Wade turns embarrassed and mumbles awkwardly: “I am not yet. I eat when dad is asleep. So he can’t see me go into the kitchen and tell me bad stuff.”

As before, he tries hard to show a huge smile and adds: “But I can go now if you want! I bet you are starving, huh, mister Peter?”

“Call me Peter.” the man pats his back again and shakes his head. “And it’s okay. I am not hungry yet either.” He pulls Wade closer, puts an arm around his shoulder and says gently: “We can go downstairs together later. We will crawl on the ceiling.”

“Really??” Wade’s smile is so big his face is almost split in half by it. “You know, I think I will add some gadgets inspired by you into my costume.”

“Hey! Don’t copy my style!”

“I won’t copy it, I will make it _better_.”

Peter pouts and folds his arms; Wade giggles - a carefree, melodious sound - and sticks out his tongue at him.

“Don’t you have any homework to do, boy, instead of offending my classy, fancy style?”

“Uh… I _do_ have something to do for school.” Wade admits, glancing at the desk with a half-guilty expression, which quickly turns into annoyance. “But it’s boring and stupid and the teacher wouldn’t understand my genius.”

“What is it about?” Peter asks, genuinely curious; he was a good student, he could help Wade if he needs his assistance. He sits cross-legged on the bed and the child, realizing he really wants to know, sighs and goes to the desk to take a piece of paper from under the pile of books. It’s torn in a corner and a bit crumpled, but still readable. Not that there is much to read on it anyway; just a short explanation of the task written by the teacher and a single line.

“ _‘Write a letter to your future self, describing your dreams, aspirations and objectives for the future. Explain in great details what you would like to be once you grow up. You can also use direct questions directed at your future self to let the readers know what your dreams are about. Example: ‘Did I manage to become a policeman just like I wanted? Did my parents finally build the treehouse they promised me?’ Don’t forget to wish your future self the very best!’”  
_

Peter swallows twice and blinks thrice before forcing his lips to curl upwards. It’s like the world itself wants to see him cry, by throwing at him painful coincidences and bitter irony.

“It’s a funny assignment.” he croaks out. He clears his voice and insists: “It’s original. Why haven’t you started it yet?”

“I can’t write I wanna be a superhero. People would mock me.” Wade huffs, a blush spreading on his round, soft cheeks. “They would laugh at me.” He snatches the paper out of Peter’s hand and hides it back under the books. “It’s stupid and I am not gonna do it.”

“I think you should.” Peter gently says, his tone soft. “Your dream is beautiful, Wade. You don’t have to be ashamed of it. Don’t care about your classmates, show them who you are and who you want to become.” Again, his voice cracks, his sight gets blurred, but he doesn’t let that stop him. It hurts to say these things, it hurts so much, and yet he can’t stop himself from doing it. He feels lighter when hope appears on Wade’s face, when his juvenile eyes become bigger and rounder with surprise.

“Really?” he whispers and when Peter nods, still smiling, he blushes more and looks at the photo still resting on the bed.

“Mom wouldn’t laugh at me. She would say the same things you are telling me now.”

He smiles, but it’s a smile filled with grief and anguish, which get into his tone too: “She would hug me and tell me: ‘You are gonna be the best hero ever, baby boy!’”

Peter jumps as if he has been slapped.

“What… What did you say?” he murmurs, feeling cold and hot at the same time.

“She would hug me.” Wade repeats, blushing again, perplexed by Peter’s strange tone. “And call me ‘baby boy’. She always called me like that.” His sad smile returns and he walks over to the bed, taking the photo without seeing Peter’s shock. “I was her baby boy. She always said it with so much _love_ , it sounded so beautiful and good!”

He gently traces the contours of her face, continuing in a whisper: “I made a promise to myself, you know? I promised that if I ever find the love of my life, a person I will love forever… I will call them like that. I think it’s the best expression of love.” He looks shy, now, shy and mortified. “Maybe because it’s the only one I know.”

A weird, choking sound makes him look up at Peter and he gasps.

“Mister Peter!”

After hesitating for a moment, he slowly approaches the man and puts a hand on his arm, asking softly:

“Mister Peter, why are you crying?”


	3. Villain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me so much time, uni leaves me drained almost every single day ;_; It also doesn’t help that this chapter is sad as fuck and I wanted to die while writing it *ahem*
> 
> I hope you will enjoy it :’D And please forgive me for any typos!

Peter manages to convince Wade that he’s fine, that he cried because his story moved him a lot - and it’s partially true -, that he doesn’t need to worry.

He avoids looking at the picture for the rest of the evening and tries not to think about what little Wade told him. It’s a difficult thing to do because his boyfriend is basically in front of him, smiling and laughing in that way that Peter knows so well, so everything reminds him of his Wade and all the times he called him ‘baby boy’.

The TV downstairs is turned off and heavy footsteps on the stairs and in the hallway outside the child’s room distract him from his sad, heavy thoughts; Wade’s father doesn’t even peek into the room nor simply asks if everything is alright from behind it. He doesn’t wish him goodnight nor acknowledges his existence in any other way. Wade seems to be pretty relieved by it; on the contrary, Peter feels rage and hatred fill him, bubbling like acid in the pit of his stomach.  

A door in the hallway closes and Wade slowly opens his own, squinting into the darkness. He motions Peter to follow him with a grin, probably looking forward to that crawling on the ceiling the hero promised him; Peter sniffs away the last tears and smiles back at him, following him downstairs.

As he expected, the house isn’t in good conditions. The living room is a mess, empty beer cans are scattered on the floor, dust and dirt cover the furniture, the walls smell bad. Peter sees the outlines of an old, battered armchair in front of a TV, a newspaper on the ground next to it, and frowns. The whole place screams of decay and forgotten habits, of abandonment and violence.

“Hey!”

Peter is startled from his trance filled with sadness - _‘Did he really live here, with that beast? Oh, Wade…!’_ \-  and quickly looks at the boy, who is tugging at his pants.

“The kitchen is over there.” Wade whispers and Peter smiles down at him, crouching so he can climb on his back.

“Ready?”

“Fuck yes!”

“ _Wade._ ”

“Come on, come on!” the kid giggles, carefully putting a hand on his mouth to muffle the sound, and Peter sighs with a fond smile, shaking his head, and proceeds to crawl on the wall and ceiling.

“This is so fucking cool, man!” Wade whispers, looking down while Peter enters in the kitchen through the arch. “Do you always do this?”

“Yes. I also swing with my webs through New York.”

He realizes he shouldn’t have said that when Wade’s silence lasts a little bit too much.

“I never saw you on TV though. Nor read about you.”

“I… uh…” Peter clears his throat, cursing his tongue, and swiftly makes a white thread to hang from it upside down, facing the fridge. “I train in the less populated areas of the city, of course! Now come on, let’s take something to eat. You will tell me what you want and I will use my webs and pass it to you, okay?”

“ _Duuuude_.”

“I know, it’s pretty cool.” Peter laughs softly, opening the fridge; Wade lists him all the things they need to have a decent meal upstairs and Peter follows his instructions, not daring to take more nor change something. Who knows what his father would say if something in particular was missing.

He shoots his webs at the ingredients and hands them to Wade, who holds them without problems in a single arm, using the other to cling to Peter’s neck. They don’t need much, anyway, and they are soon crawling on the ceiling again, headed back to the room that Peter is starting to consider cozy, like a little refuge in the middle of chaos.

Wade probably considers it like that too.

Their dinner isn’t the right one for a child as young as Wade - just a sandwich and a glass of milk -, but it’s better than nothing (for a moment Peter wonders with horror if Wade’s father ever refused him food… he probably did). They talk lowly, speaking of superheroes, of powers, of missions and training. Peter does his best to avoid any mention of his present and answers Wade’s questions with a big smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He feels empty and cold, like the barren landscape out of the window, and he pats several times the kid’s back and head, as if to reassure him and calm his scared, trembling spirit. He can see how he turns back to the door, fearing his father and what his presence means.

“Do you have school tomorrow?” Peter asks, sipping the cold milk that doesn’t really help with this weather. Maybe he should have offered to heat it for Wade… but again, he doesn’t know how things work into this house. He has an idea, though, and can imagine the beast’s rage in case gas is wasted.

“Well, duh. It’s Monday.” Wade sighs and his shoulders slump. “I hate Monday.”

“Me too.” Peter laughs, then he glances at the desk and the paper not completely hidden under the books. “Is that due tomorrow?”

“Yes.” the child grumbles, crossing his legs on the bed so he doesn’t have an excuse to get up and take it again.

“… Do you want me to help you? We could finish it in a flash!”

“I…” Wade looks at him, blushing; he is thinking about what Peter told him, the young man can see that, but his doubts are soon replaced by a grim, pouting face.

“No. It’s stupid. I don’t wanna write it.”

“Wade, it’s not…”

“And they would laugh at me!” he exclaims, tears shimmering in his eyes; he immediately gasps and covers his mouth, turning to watch the door. There is only silence, broken by the wind howling outside, and the monster is still sleeping.

“Okay.” Peter whispers, changing topic. He doesn’t want to upset Wade nor force him to do something he doesn’t want to do. He smiles warmly, placing the empty glass on the desk (not on the nightstand, because the photo is still there, with all its implications and tragedy), and brushes back the long, blond hair from the child’s forehead.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to. Don’t worry. Come up with some excuses to tell the teacher and don’t think about it anymore.”

Wade sniffs and nods gratefully, a small smile on his lips.

“Dad doesn’t care about my marks anyway.” he looks down at the floor and his smile disappears as fast as it came. “He doesn’t care about anything.”

Peter forces his tears back; he already cried in front of the boy and can’t let him see them again, not when he is about to cry too.

_‘I have to be strong for him. I can’t cry with him, I have to support him! Happy thoughts, Peter, happy thoughts…’_

But all the happy thoughts he has include Wade, his Wade, and in this situation, in this context, those memories only make him want to cry more.

“Listen.” he starts, pulling the kid close. “I am going to swing around here tomorrow to see if the Avengers finally found me. Do you…”

“Don’t leave without telling me first!” Wade gasps, clinging to his costume with both his hands. “Please, let me know first!”

His eyes are big and round and pleading just like adult Wade’s are when he is scared or worried about Peter.

_“Please, be careful, Peter.”_

_“Are you okay??”_

_“Do… do you think Miss May will mind if I wear my gloves during dinner? I don’t want to sicken her…”_

Peter gulps and strokes the child’s cheek, pinching it gently.

“Of course, you silly. I will definitely come to say goodbye first.”

Wade sighs, relieved, and presses his face against Peter’s chest; the young man keeps stroking his back and continues, his eyes settling on the lamp, always ignoring the photo: “Do you want to swing with me tomorrow, to see my powers? We can’t let your dad find me - it would be pretty complicated to explain why I am here -, so I will spend the day in those abandoned buildings not far from here. I will wait for you until school is over, okay?”

He also has to see whether a portal or some kind of other way to go back home appeared in the field he woke up in. Maybe the others opened something for him, maybe they are already there, searching for him… he doesn’t know, but he needs to investigate the scene more.

Without forgetting about little Wade, of course. After all, he promised to show him his abilities.

As he expected, the child smiles brightly at him and nods, his tiny hands still grasping his suit.

“I know that place! I always go play there.”

Peter rises his eyebrows, worried.

“Alone?”

“Yes.” Wade shrugs, as if it isn’t that big of a deal. “I pretend to be a superhero and fight bad monsters and villains!”

“Ohh!” Peter coos, gently picking him up to prepare the bed. He can see the tiredness and sleepiness in the boy’s eyes and a glance at the alarm tells him it’s starting to get late. “Like a true hero! But heroes need sleep too. Come on, let’s go to bed.”

Wade is about to complain, but a yawn interrupts him and he has to give up under Peter’s amused smile. He grumbles something about being ‘a strong guy that needs no sleep’, but diligently takes out his pajamas - Captain America themed of course - and slips under the sheets, accepting to be tucked in by Peter.

“Promise me you won’t go away without saying goodbye first.” he begs, panicking again, and Peter takes his hands, squeezes them and kisses the top of his head.

“I promise. I am just going to check out the situation, really! The others may come late, for all I know.”

 _‘Yeah…’_ he thinks grimly, resting down on the hammock he made before. _‘Maybe I will have to stay here for a long time, who knows.’_

If that means making little Wade happy, though, he doesn’t mind. He watches the boy as he reaches out for the photo and kisses it; he smiles at him, then Wade gasps, gets out of the bed and runs to the wardrobe. He takes out a short blanket and gives it to Peter, apologizing with a deep blush for not having thought about it before.

“I am sorry, it’s all I have here. There are other sheets in dad’s room, but…”

“It’s okay, I am not cold!” Peter lies, pushing it back in the child’s arms. “You should use it.”

“But…!”

“I am serious.” Peter ruffles his hair. “It’s fine, Wade.”

“Okay…” the boy goes back to bed and spreads the second blanket over his feet, probably the part that most gets cold during the night. He smiles at Peter, waves at him and finally turns off the light. In the darkness, Peter allows an expression of pure pain and sadness to replace the smile he gave the boy.

“Goodnight, mister Peter!”

“Goodnight, Wade.”

“I am going to leave soon tomorrow to go to school, so don’t worry if you don’t see me. I will leave your breakfast on the desk, okay?”

“Don’t worry about it, you don’t have to…”

“No, no, it’s important!” Wade repeats the same thing he told him when he swore to never reveal his secret identity. “Heroes must treat their guests nicely! Only villains are bad with their prisoners.”

Peter laughs and blurts out, before he can think about it: “Cap would be proud of you.”

He bites his lips, heart thundering, every breath painful due to the heaviness on his chest. Wade’s awed whisper only makes his pain worse: “Really?”

“Yes.” Peter is grateful for the darkness, because it hides his new tears and he can let them fall freely. “Yes, he would be proud.”

He can imagine how Wade is blushing and smiling into his pillow now; he knows how happy his eyes are and how hard he is trying to stifle a giggle.

“Now sleep.” Peter says softly. “I will wait for you in that courtyard. Be good at school, okay?”

“Okay! Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Despite all the thoughts and memories mixing in his head, Peter manages to fall asleep pretty soon, exhausted after the long, emotional day.

He doesn’t see nor hear Wade get up; he doesn’t wake up when the boy takes the piece of paper from under the books and turns on a flashlight to write better; he is not startled awake when Wade drops a pen nor when he makes some noise to sit at the desk.

Peter keeps dreaming of his Wade and his warm, strong hands while the child writes and writes, filling the page with a childish, round handwriting until the essay is finally done and his sleepy eyes are full of satisfaction and joy.

The snow has stopped falling and the sun is bright up in the sky when Peter opens his eyes.

He immediately notices Wade’s absence and slowly gets up, landing noiselessly on the floor and looking around.

The backpack and some books are gone and he sees Wade’s jammies thrown carelessly on the messy bed; he silently puts everything in order and tidies up the room a bit, without moving too much stuff. He knows how annoying that feels like, after an entire childhood and adolescence spent with his old, neat Aunt.

There is another glass of milk and a plate of biscuits on the nightstand; Peter smiles and eats some, making sure to leave the rest for the boy. Who knows if he has brought lunch at school…

The house seems quiet and empty, but Wade passed to Peter some of his fear of his father and the hero jumps out of the window as soon as the room is in a decent state. He doesn’t want to be found by a violent and short-tempered man in his son’s room.

The temperature isn’t as low as the day before, but the streets are still devoid of any life and people; Peter checked the alarm on the nightstand before going and knows it’s only 9AM, so he’s a bit surprised nobody else is out. However, it’s definitely a good thing; his flashy, tight costume wouldn’t be considered… decent, not in a little town like this at least.

The trip to the courtyard seems way shorter than the previous day; Peter reaches it in half an hour - or so he calculates - and finds out with worry and disappointment that no portal reappeared, no door or window is there to magically bring him back to his time.

Something, a sense not much different from his spider one, tells him this is the right place, the spot he has to wait for help in. He always trusted his instincts since he got his powers and it’s happy to have decided to spend most of the day here. And if the others are really going to appear in the courtyard any moment now, then he will tell them to wait and go fetch Wade, in one way or the other.

The buildings are in terrible conditions, but he manages to find one with the roof and floors still intact. It’s easy to break a barren window and enter; it’s more difficult to find a good corner to control the courtyard from. In the end, he finds the right room: a piece of wall fell and Peter uses the hole to keep an eye on the white field, relatively shielded by the cold air thanks to the rest of the brick wall.

There isn’t much to do, apart from waiting, either for Wade to get out of school or for the others to arrive; Peter rests back against the wall, observing the courtyard below, and lets his mind wander, think about the day before, the words he exchanged with little Wade. It seems like a whole year has passed since he talked with _his_ Wade, like he spent a lifetime here, in the small snow-clad Canadian town.

Peter closes his eyes and sighs; he longs for Wade’s arms, for his kisses and jokes. He longs for his presence and voice and love.

He doesn’t know what he is going to do once the others finally come. He doesn’t know how he is gonna deal with little Wade, if there are going to be complications, if he already messed up everything and is destined to remain here forever, until time is irremediably ruined and this universe gone.

For a second, the possibility of not seeing Wade ever again makes his heart stop, then he chases away that horrible thought and tries to get some sleep. He feels still tired, still drained, and the hammock wasn’t that comfortable. The cold drafts that hit him all night didn’t help him either and it’s not like he can spend the time in another way right now.

So he keeps his eyes closed and tries to think about happy things, happy memories, even if those hurt so, _so much_ and the desire to be reunited with Wade only grows more.  
  
  


\- - -  
  
  


“I am fucking tired, Cap!”

Rogers flinches at the harsh, yelled words and raises his hands defensively.

“Son, I know it’s…”

Wade jabs at his chest with a finger and growls: “We have been exploring this damn warehouse the whole night! Well, you know what?” He points at one of the few, dirty windows near the ceiling and continues, his tone becoming angrier the more he speaks: “It’s fucking morning now and I want to save Peter! The machine must be ready, it must be! Let’s go back to Banner!”

Cap hesitates; he have been dragging Wilson around for the entire night, that’s true, hoping to distract him from the time machine like Banner suggested. Of course the mercenary was never convinced about the weird, sudden patrol and complained and followed Cap begrudgingly the whole time, leaving Banner and Stark alone in the main room.

“I am not dumb.” Wade continues, pronouncing those words like he said them so many times before. “I know it’s almost ready and that you have been keeping me away from Mr. Green-Scientist to not bother him!”

“Okay. Okay.” Cap interrupts him, putting on a neutral, controlled expression. “Let’s go back to Bruce. I am sure he and Tony are done now.”

He hopes so. He also hopes Wilson won’t read the name and the date on the screen, that he won’t understand where Peter ended up being. Cap doesn’t even dare to imagine what would happen in that case, what Wilson’s reaction would be. He read his file and even if his childhood has never been described in great detail, he knows it must have been horrible. He doesn’t want to upset the poor man nor make him relive all his past tragedies by exploring the same place they happened in. So, as he follows the angry and eager mercenary through the abandoned corridors, the super soldier tries to find a way to stop him from entering the portal and seeing where his boyfriend really is.

Banner must have thought the same thing, feared the same sad scenario, because when they enter the room, his eyes move from Wilson and Cap incessantly, betraying his nervous state. Wade is so antsy, much more than all of them, that he starts walking back and forth in front of the now lit portal, careful not to get too close to it, but without hiding all his impatience. He babbles incessantly.

“Can I enter? Can I fucking finally go in?”

Stark, who worked with Banner, raises his head from the console and exchanges a worried glance with Rogers, before clearing his throat and answering vaguely: “We updated the machine. If Parker made some changes in the past, it will automatically reset them, so there shouldn’t be time paradoxes and other problems. However…”

“However _what_?” Wade snarls, gritting his teeth. His mask is rolled up to the nose and for a moment he looks feral, animalistic. “You found Peter, didn’t you? You tracked him, tell me you tracked him! Where is he??”

“We did.” Banner assures him, casually hiding the screen with his body. Wade thankfully doesn’t notice the motion and keeps glaring at him. “But the machine may be dangerous and we can’t all go in. Someone needs to stay at this side of the portal and control the situation.”

“I know that, I am _not_ stupid! I will go, of course. You can stay here waiting for Peter and me.”

“You should stay here with Bruce. We will take your place.” Cap intervenes; he walks closer to the merc, who is gawking at him like he can’t believe his ears, and rests a hand on his shoulder. “I am not joking, son. Peter may be shocked, traumatized, and he needs to find a familiar face waiting for him in his time, here where his home is.”

“N-No! I need to save him! If he is really in trouble, he needs to see _me_ there, to see _me_ getting out of that shit to bring him to safety! I can’t stay back and…”

“And what if the machine acts strange and you end up in a different time?” Stark steps in, folding his arms. “What if you get lost? What if an already tired and scared Peter hears that you are God knows where because you went in to save him? Do you think that would help him?”

“We will take the risk.” Cap continues. “You stay _safe_ here, ready to hug him and comfort him. And if something goes wrong, at least we will be the ones who are lost in time and Banner will find a way to save us quickly.”

“Do as they say, Wade.” Wolverine grumbles, squashing a cigar under his foot. “They are right.”

Wade pales, looking at the superheroes around him. Even Thor nods at his direction and Banner’s nervous, stern stare seems to convince him, at least partially.

“I-I…” he murmurs, glancing back at the portal. “I…”

“Peter will understand.” Cap adds, knowing what else is troubling the mercenary.

_‘If he really met a little Wade Wilson… hell, I bet he will be super relieved to be rescued by us and not his boyfriend, in this case…’_

Wade clenches his jaw and looks down, nodding once to give his approval. Then he sits on the crates still placed in front of the now bright portal and rests his elbows on his knees, staring with a heated glare at the light.

“You bring him back safe and sound, got it?” he says, his tone low and serious. “Safe and sound to me.”

“Of course.” Rogers looks at the others and nods. After Stark slides on his helmet and Thor picks up his hammer, they are ready to go; they know a single one of them would be more than enough to go and bring Peter home, but they have to pretend they know nothing about his current situation. He can’t be in danger - not in a town and year like those he is currently in-, but Wade doesn’t know that and they can’t make him ask too questions.

“The trip could take some time, even though we won’t notice it.” Stark warns as they approach the portal. “Bruce and I calculated it. We will spend only a few seconds in that gate, but some hours may pass where… where Peter is. We may arrive there when it’s already night.”

“I fear not the darkness.” Thor comments, eyeing the portal with distrustful eyes.

“We are ready, Banner.” Cap announces and the scientist nods.

“And so is the machine. You can go.”

“Smile, Wilson!” Wolverine exclaims as they start to get pulled by the powerful force of the time machine. “You are going to hug your Peter soon.”

Wade ignores him and keeps glaring at the portal, hands joined in front of his masked face. When the last superhero - Stark, who thumbs up at him - is gone beyond the bright mist, Banner presses a button and the light gets less intense.

“They are in.”

“Getting lost?” Wade snorts ironically and he’s surprised to hear the scientist laughs softly.

“No, everything is going well. There are no complications and the ‘road’ they are following is the right one.”

“I could have done it.” the merc murmurs, clenching his fists. “I should have been there. Not them. Peter doesn’t need them, he needs _me!_ ”

“Wade…” Bruce can’t walk away from the machine yet, so he looks at the other man from the corner he spent the whole night in with a sad, almost paternal expression. “This is the right thing, believe me. You will help Peter _immensely_ by waiting for him here. And you will help yourself too.”

“Why do you say that?” Wade growls, albeit his face expresses confusion. “You know something, don’t you?”

“I know nothing.” Bruce looks away, down at the screen, and his eyes gets sadder. “Only that this is right, both for you and Peter.”

Wade curses under his breath, turning back at the portal, but he seems less angry now, more controlled and hopeful. His eyes never moves from the gate and Banner says nothing more.  
  
  


\- - -  
  
  


“God…” Peter grunts, stirring and looking down at the empty courtyard with a scowl. “Guess I was really tired.”

He can see from the position of the sun in the sky that some hours have passed. He is pretty cold, but at least he didn’t sleep in the snow like the last time. The walls and spandex kept him relatively warm and after swinging twice across the buildings, he feels good and ready to go back to little Wade.

He rushes to the house, not wanting to make the child believe he left without warning him; the weather is better today and it stopped snowing, so it’s the perfect chance to show him his moves.

He hides behind a garbage bin when an old couple passes next to him, in the neighborhood Wade lives in. There is finally more activity now and the town doesn’t seem as deserted as before. He feels a bit better, seeing and hearing human presence, but decides to be reckless and runs to the small house before too much time passes.

Fortunately Wade’s house is the first one of the row and nobody in the road can see him; Peter crawls rapidly on the wall and reaches the window, which he left closed to stop any more cold air and snow to enter into the child’s room. He sees a familiar, too much recent scene happen again.

Wade is on the bed, crying; his shoulders are shaking harder than the previous time and his sobs can be heard from outside. He is holding his mother’s photo and big, round tears are falling on it. Peter starts breathing heavily; he feels like a strong hand is squeezing his throat, stopping air from reaching his brain and letting his heart dry and torn like the brown, dead leaves in the garden below.

He raises a shaking hand and knocks on the glass; Wade hears, but doesn’t look up. He gets off the bed and opens the window, but never raises his head nor his eyes, which are glued to the frame.

“Wade…” Peter murmurs, suddenly scared, and he can’t help the urgency in his voice. “Wade, what happened?”

The child is sitting back on the bed and Peter reaches out for him; as soon as his fingers brush against his arm, Wade flinches and sobs, shielding his face: “Don’t look at me!”

_“Don’t look at me, Peter. The scars are uglier than usual today.”_

“Wade…” the young man whispers, ignoring the veil of tears that it’s forming in his eyes. “Wade…”

He extends the hand again and this time Wade doesn’t back away. Peter rubs gently his fingertips on his shoulder, before putting two fingers under his chin and moving his head. He gasps.

There is a bad, dark bruise under the boy’s left eye and his lips are bloody, cracked. A small cut on his forehead has stopped bleeding, but it looks painful and deep.

“Your father…?”

Wade nods, lips trembling, and his grip on the frame is so strong Peter can see the bones sticking out of the white, chapped skin. It reminds him of his Wade and he uses every ounce of self-control to stop the wail building in his throat from coming out.

“He is gone now.” little Wade whispers. “He went to work.”

“Why did he hit you?” Peter gently brushes away the sweaty hair from the child’s face, careful not to touch the cut. “Why did he get angry this time?”

Wade shrugs, without giving an answer, and continues to look down at his mother’s face, stroking the photo with a finger.

“I want my mom back.” he sobs and Peter is crushed by the despair and pain in his voice, by the awareness of being unable to do something to help him.

“Hey…” he says softly, stroking the little one’s back. He smiles the best smile he can make right now and Wade blinks at him, other two, shining tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I promised to show you my powers, didn’t I?” Peter helps him get up and something different from sadness and resignation finally appears on the boy’s face. “Let’s go to that courtyard now! We will swing with my webs and crawl on the buildings for the whole day.”

Wade places the frame back on the nightstand without interrupting eye contact with Peter; he is too excited and thrilled to do so.

“Really??” he gasps and Peter laughs and nods.

Wade rushes to put on an old scarf (Peter notices with relief that he is wearing heavy clothes now) and pushes the hero towards the window, the incident with his father temporarily forgotten; he is giggling and jumping like the child he is and Peter swiftly puts him on his back, before jumping down.

The road is empty again and they arrive at the courtyard without any problems; Peter shoots the first web at the nearest wall and starts soaring above the white field. Wade screams with joy, his tiny arms wrapped around his neck, and asks to go faster, higher, his laugh crystalline and carefree.

They swing for a good hour; Peter does acrobatics, never losing concentration, never putting Wade in danger; the happy laughs the boy is making are both beautiful and excruciatingly painful to hear. Peter is giving him happiness and peace, something he won’t feel for many, many years, and his heart cries, his guilt grows and his desire to see his Wade becomes unbearable; he needs him more than he needs air.

_‘Am I doing the right thing?’_

“Mister Peter! That window is closed!”

Peter blinks and shakes himself out of his worried state.

“Wanna see my super-strength?” he shouts to be heard above the wind whistling in their ears.

“You have super-strength??”

“Of course!” he laughs, doing a pirouette mid-air and making Wade giggle. “Hold on tight!”

They are swinging right towards a barren window; Peter waits for the right moment, when he is at maximum speed, then releases the white thread and kicks the wooden planks, breaking them without any effort, making a big noise and cloud of dust. They land safely inside the building and Wade gets down from Peter’s back, looking back at the numerous layers of boards laying in pieces on the dirty floor.

“Holy shit!”

“Pretty impressive, huh?” Peter smirks, hands on his hips; Wade grins at him, about to say something, when a loud ‘beep’ resonates in the half-destroyed room.

Peter freezes and stares down at his pants; there is a hidden pocket inside and he rummages into it with shaking hands. Gasping, he takes out a small device the Avengers use to communicate with each other. He has no idea how this can be working here and now, in a different time, in an old version of their world, but the device _is_ ringing, he is really getting a call from Captain America and he answers with a squeaky, weak voice.

“Y-Yes?”

“Oh, thanks God! It really works! Tony, your inventions are fantastic!”

“No shit.” Peter hears the billionaire in the background say.

“Parker!” Cap is speaking to him now. “Are you alright?”

“I…” Peter looks down at little Wade, who is staring at him, mouth agape, eyes as big as two golf balls. He probably guessed what’s happening.

“I am fine.” Peter finally answers and Rogers sighs relieved.

“Son, do you know where the machine brought you?”

“In deep shit.” Wolverine mumbles, loud enough to be heard, and Peter swallows a hard lump. What does that mean…?

“Yes, I do.” he smiles down at Wade, but he can feel how empty his smile is and the child notices his apprehension. “It’s been a shock, I will tell you that.”

“We can’t imagine how you felt, son, we really can’t. But we are here now and…”

“Where is he?” Peter interrupts him, suddenly panicked. Where is his Wade? Why doesn’t he hear him? Why didn’t _he_ call him?

_‘Oh God! Oh God! Did I erase his existence??’_

“Tell me, where is he?? Is he…?” he shouts, tears filling his eyes, and doesn’t see how surprised the child next to him is.

“He is fine. Everything is fine in our time. Wade is waiting for you there.”

“Why? Why didn’t he come?” Peter lets the tears fall freely and distractedly feels little Wade’s grip around his hand. “I can’t believe he decided to stay there instead of… of… H-He wouldn’t have done that! Don’t lie to me!”

“Son.” Cap’s voice is stern now, it’s the tone he uses when he wants to be listened to in battle. “He’s fine, trust me. We know where you are too. We know what time this is. We didn’t let him come for this reason.”

Peter closes his eyes and his inner turmoil disappears, replaced by relief and gratefulness.

“He doesn’t know where you are, but we convinced him to wait for you in our time. We… we knew it would have been horrible for him to see this place again.”

“Thank you.” Peter murmurs, rubbing gently little Wade’s hand. “Thank you.”

“We can leave this time without consequences.” Stark is speaking now. “Bruce and I modified the machine. It will automatically reset everything you did here.” The billionaire hesitates for a second, then asks, trying to muster all the tact he can: “So… did you make any significant changes?”

“Y-Yes.” Peter is looking at the child again. The bruise under his eye is spreading to his cheek now.

“Please, tell me you didn’t meet _him_.”

“I did.”

Stark curses and Cap speaks again, his tone gentler than before.

“I… I am so sorry.” A moment of silence, then: “We should go now. The sooner, the better. Where are you?”

“At the outskirts of the town, where I appeared the first time. In an abandoned courtyard.”

“… With decaying apartments all around and a lot of snow?”

Peter gasps and runs to a hole in the wall, peeking outside. He sees the team in the field below, the portal right behind their backs. They must have arrived while he and Wade were jumping into the building.

“I-I can see you.”

“The Avengers!” Wade gasps, paling. His eyes are abnormally big now. “It’s the Avengers! It’s really them!”

“Cap, give me a minute. I need…” Peter gulps and crouches to look at the child. “I need to talk to him.”

“He is _there_?” the super soldier almost chokes. “With you??”

Now both Stark and Wolverine curses, while Thor calls his father’s name.

“Please, just give me a minute!”

Peter ends the call and takes the child’s head in his hands, stroking the cheeks with his thumbs. A small blush appears on the chubby face and Wade asks, shyly and a bit scared: “Am… am I in trouble?”

“No, sweetheart. You are not in trouble.” Peter smiles, shaking his head; his tears come back and Wade grasps his suit.

“Mister Peter, why are you crying?”

“It’s okay. I am fine.” Peter breathes deeply and caresses his face. “I… I have to tell you something, Wade.”

“Okay.” Wade starts to fidget, upset by the man’s tears, and Peter sniffs and wipes them away before speaking: “I am not from here. This is not… this is not my…”

“You mean you are not Canadian?” Wade shows a little grin. “I already knew that, dude! Don’t worry, I don’t think you are here to steal our jobs or shit like that.”

“No! I-I mean…” Peter has to stop again; little Wade can joke and make a bad topic seem less bad with adult Wade’s same ease. This umpteenth similarity makes Peter’s heart ache.

“I am not from this time.” he finally says, never ceasing to look at the kid. “I come from the future.”

Wade giggles, amused, but there is doubt on his face and Peter makes him look from the hole again.

“See that portal? I came from there. There was an incident with a time machine and I ended up here.”

The kid slowly turns to him, paler than before.

“So… you…?”

“I am an Avenger of the future.” Peter nods, taking his hand and holding it close to his heart. “Twenty-five years in the future.”

“So…” Wade now blushes and his other hand move to grasp his scarf, as if he needs something to hold on to. “So all those missions you told me about …?”

“They are missions that still haven’t happened. Not now, I mean. They happened in my time.” Peter pleads him with his eyes, tangling their fingers together: “Wade, I didn’t lie to you! Except for the time machine, yes, but…!”

“I know.” Wade smiles, a true, happy smile. “You are a good person.”

Peter sighs, returning the smile, and strokes the back of his hand tenderly. “Thank you.”

“From the future, huh? Dude, that’s _super_ cool!” Hope and fear mixed together pass through the child’s face. “Do… do you know me? How am I?”

Peter stiffens as Wade looks at him with hopeful, innocent eyes.

“Will I become a hero? Or…” he trembles for a moment, then concludes, tears streaming down his face: “Or will I be a villain?”

“No, Wade! You won’t be a bad guy!”

“I…” Wade cries harder, his tiny body shook by sobs and hiccups. “I don’t wanna be a villain.”

“You won’t become one.” Peter has to inhale and exhale slowly and deeply not to let his tears fall again. “I know it, Wade, believe me.”

“Dad always tells him I can’t be like Cap. That I can just… ‘keep fucking dreaming’.” Wade’s hatred and fear are clear in his feeble voice. “I know what people like me become. People with a hard childhood and a bad dad and a bad house and… and… it’s _always_ like that, mister Peter! It’s one of the rules of the superhero world!”

“That’s not true!” Peter replies, raising his voice a bit. “You can ignore what life throws at you, you can be stronger than the pain and humiliation! You can be stronger than anything else and show your father and the rest of the world that you didn’t give up, that you became a good person despite their cruelty!”

It’s like he is talking to _his_ Wade now, telling him through time that he’s proud of him, reaching across the years to shout his love for him.

Little Wade is silent and Peter continues, gripping tightly the little hand: “You won’t become a villain, Wade. You will become a beautiful, good person.”

And Peter isn’t lying, he is not trying to comfort the boy with petty words without meaning. He thinks of his Wade and the Wade crying in front of him, of the tortures he will endure, of the suffering and humiliations he will have to go through. He thinks of his smile, of his laughter and his gentle, soft touches and smiles through the tears.

“Yes, a beautiful, good person. Believe me.”

Then he wraps his arms around the kid and holds him close, continuing with a confident, reassuring voice: “You are a hero, Wade, one of the best! Skilled, admired and _loved_.”

“For real? You… you are not shitting me, are you?” the boy gasps and Peter laughs amidst his tears.

“I am serious, sweetheart. You will be so, so _brave_! More than me, more than Captain America!”

“Am I part of the Avengers??” the child exclaims, jumping up and down like Peter has seen him doing so many times before. “Will we work together, you and I?”

“Yes. We are best friends.” Peter smiles at him and wipes away his tears. He even presses a kiss on his forehead and Wade giggles.

“My dad was wrong! That… that asshole…!” Wade sniffs, a huge grin splitting his face. “Mom is gonna be proud! I won’t disappoint her!”

“She is proud, honey. She is very proud.” Peter’s chest hurts more now; every word carved a hole in his heart, his eyes burn and he doesn’t know how much longer he can go on without openly weeping and sobbing. His voice is already cracked, hoarse due to the many tears shed and those forcibly swallowed.

Wade’s smile is bright like the sun outside, but it slowly fades away when he looks down at the team in the white field.

“You have to go now, right?”

“…Yes.”

The child nods, knowing that was the only possible answer, and takes a folded piece of paper out of a pocket.

“I was going to ask you to bring me with you to New York, but now that I know you came from the future, we can’t do that.” his smile returns and he hands the paper to Peter, who slowly takes it. “Is this okay if I give you this though? Am I gonna change the future too much?” He panics a little. “Wait, didn’t you already change everything by talking with me?”

“No, it’s okay. We found a way.” Peter laughs, starting to unfold the paper. “The future isn’t in danger… _oh_.” He gasps and his eyes widen when he recognizes the completed essay.

“I thought it was stupid.” Wade mumbles, shuffling his feet on the floor. “I wrote it last night, but I didn’t give it to the teacher. It’s… it’s for you.” He fidgets, torturing his fingers and short, broken nails. “Maybe it’s not _that_ stupid, now that I know I will really become a hero!” He offers a shy, toothy smile, but Peter is too busy reading the childish, cute handwriting to notice it. The text is not very long, but it’s enough to leave him completely annihilated. He feels like crying again and he would do it if there were more tears left in his body.

“It’s beautiful, sweetheart.” he murmurs, looking at the child with glossy eyes and a twitching smile. “So, so beautiful. Thank you for this.”

“So… everything I wrote there will become true…?” Wade still needs to hear another confirmation and Peter gladly reassures him, placing a soft kiss on the top of his head.

“Yes. Everything you wished will happen.”

He presses the paper against his heart, lets out a shaky breath, then folds it again and puts it inside his costume, safely tucked against his chest.  
  


Peter goes down to the courtyard with Wade in his arms. The child, despite his initial excitement and cockiness, hides his face in the crook of his neck, watching Captain America and the others with an eye full of joy and shyness. His cheeks are scarlet and his palms are sweating; Peter pats his back to calm him and says: “Guys, this is Wade. He wanted to say goodbye before we go.”

Rogers’ expression softens and he approaches the child, extending a hand with a smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Wade.”

Wade hesitates, then pulls away from Peter and shakes the hand, too nervous to speak. His smile tells everything the heroes need to know, though.

Rogers’ eyes slightly widen when he sees the bruise and the cut on his face, but doesn’t mention them and continues: “Thank you for helping our Peter while he was stuck here. You have been very kind.”

“It’s…” Wade clears his throat, blushes more, and manages to conclude: “It’s okay! Heroes must help people in need!”

Cap’s smile turns sadder.

“Do you want to be a hero?”

“Yes! Just like you!”

“You are already doing a great job then.” the super soldier grins at him and Wade lets out his carefree, happy giggle. Then he sees the other Avengers and his face lightens up like a Christmas tree.

“Iron Man! Your suit from the future is freaking cool!”

“I am glad someone here has great taste!” the billionaire jokes, shooting a glare at Wolverine before turning back to the child with a happy smirk. “Not everyone can understand the beauty of a sleek, elegant design like this one, boy. Thank you.”

“It’s a _tank_ , bub.” Logan grumbles before reaching out for Wade. The child observes hand with a curious look and the mutant seems a bit embarrassed.

“Don’t worry, kid, I’m not gonna slice your wrist off.”

“Can I see _them_?” Wade gasps and Logan hesitates for a second before pulling out his claws; the child gasps, euphoric, and a corner of the mutant’s mouth curls upwards.

“You like them, ankle-biter?”

“Dude, they are great! Will we work together too? Will we team-up?”

Logan pulls back the claws and answers softly: “Yes, kid.”

“Cool!”

It’s Thor’s turn now and he bows before Wade.

“Greetings, young warrior.”

“H-Hi.” Wade returns the gesture with his head. “You are, like… even prettier in real life! You look like a Disney prince! How do you do that?”

The god chuckles, without showing confusion, and says: “Thank you. I shall speak of your gentleness with my companions in Asgard. Bill will be especially pleased to hear about your kindness, I am sure.”

“You should tell your brother to calm the heck down, though.” Wade giggles and if that topic is usually a delicate one for Thor, this time he doesn’t seem annoyed at all and laughs with the child.

“Ah, yes, indeed I should.”

For beautiful, long moments Wade looks like the happiest human being on Earth; then he turns to Peter and asks softly, his tone melancholic, low, resigned: “I won’t remember any of this, will I?”

Peter opens his mouth to reply, but no sound comes out; he shakes his head and Wade stares at him with so much intensity and emotion, he feels like crying again.

“But you… you will remember me, right?”

“Of course, Wade.” Peter murmurs; his voice breaks and he pulls the child close, cradling his head. “Always, sweetheart.”

“O-Okay.” the child sniffs. “I will be strong.” He starts shaking and his voice is quickly interrupted by sobs and heavy breaths: “I won’t ask to come with you. I will be strong, I promise.”

Peter stares at Cap, then at Stark; he pleads them, half-aware of what he is doing - _‘I know it’s impossible, I know he can’t, I know it would be crazy…’_ -; the billionaire shakes his head, his face showing all the pain and sadness in the world, but his gesture doesn’t contain hesitation nor other chances.

“Wade…” Peter gently puts him down and kneels in the snow to caress his humid face. “Hang on for a little longer. Life will get better, I promise!” He places a tender kiss on his forehead and murmurs against the soft, smooth skin so different from his Wade’s and yet so similar: “You will find your place and there will be no more pain, no more hatred. You won’t be hurt ever again.”

“I don’t wanna be alone!” the child cries, bowing his head and hiding his face behind his hands. “I don’t wanna be alone anymore!”

“You won’t be alone! I promise!” Peter sobs and hurries to hug him again; he feels his hot tears wet the spandex. “There will be hard times, but you will overcome them, because you are strong and brave and so, so good! You will find love, Wade, and nobody will ever take that from you!”

Wade stays silent for a while, then nods, pulling away to rubs his eyes; he mumbles an apology, saying future heroes shouldn’t cry, and Peter strokes his head and hair, saying heroes always cry and it’s a good thing to do.

He slowly gets up; his legs feel like wooden sticks and his heart is heavy and cold. Thor’s lips are pursed in a thin line and Logan is looking away, at the horizon, his back turned to the group.

The heroes approach the gate and Peter looks at the kid one last time. He is still crying, this time quietly, and is grasping his scarf with much strength, as if his life depends on it.

“He can’t come with us.” Stark whispers, almost inaudible. “Please, don’t ask me this, Parker. The machine will reset the changes, yes, but taking a whole person into our time is something too drastic. The consequences would be too much even for the modification Bruce and I made.”

“I know.” Peter raises a hand and waves it, trying to smile. He is not sure he is really doing it, but little Wade smiles and waves back at him.

Peter steps back, enters the portal without breaking eye contact with the child, and his other hand moves to his chest. He feels the piece of paper under the spandex and his heart feels less heavy.

_‘I am coming, Wade.’_

The last thing he sees is little Wade’s sad smile and his tiny hand waving in the air.  
  
  


\- - -  
  
  


The portal buzzes with life and Wade springs up, staring expectantly at it.

He sees vague silhouettes forming in the mist and gulps, mouth dry; when Peter finally steps out of the gate, followed by the rest of the Avengers, the mercenary lets out a booming laugh and runs to him.

“Peter!”

Wade wraps his arms around his lean body so quickly that Peter almost doesn’t see him; he closes his eyes and presses himself more against the merc using a bit of super-strength, inhaling his scent and basking in his warmth, smell, voice, presence.

“I missed you so much.” he whispers, tears silently rolling down his cheeks. “Oh, Wade, I missed you!”

“I missed you too, Petey. I am sorry, I am so sorry, I should have come, but they didn’t let me!” Wade kisses his temple and looks at him, searching on his face for any wound or trace of blood. He sees only tears and a great sadness mixed with joy and relief and frowns worriedly.

“No, Petey, don’t cry! It’s okay now, you are safe!” He grins at him and cups his face, adding with love: “I am here, baby boy.”

Wade’s grin disappears immediately when Peter bursts out crying, loud wails and sobs filling the whole room. The young man weeps into his neck, clutching his suit, and Wade gently and quietly hugs him, his big, strong hands rubbing small circles on his back.

The other superheroes look away, letting them have their privacy, and Banner is the only one who sees Stark’s misty eyes and Wolverine’s distant, empty expression.

Peter cries and cries until his throat hurts and his breathing becomes erratic and ragged; Wade holds him patiently, cradling his head with love and care, his mouth on his neck.

The folded piece of paper is pressed against their bodies and it feels hot, heavy and reassuring at the same time.


	4. Baby Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the end of this short, but wild ride! Thank you all so, so much for reading this fic, your comments and love made me super happy and motivated! I hope you enjoyed this story and that you will enjoy this final part as well. I almost cried while writing it, there are _many_ feels and a personal rendition of one of the most loved things in Spideypool. Thank you again!  <3

The bedroom is filled with sunlight and the sweet, comforting mood of domesticity that Peter missed so much during his stay in the past. There is no darkness here, no monsters behind the door, no blood and tears, apart from the ones still in his eyes.

He hasn’t stopped crying or sighing since they left the warehouse, Wade’s arm safely wrapped around his waist. He hid his face into his neck, held his hand, breathed his scent and skin and let the tears fall and fall and fall again. Wade asked nothing, said nothing. He hugged him back, comforted him with his warm touch and presence and Peter is so, so much grateful to him for it.

They are naked in their bedroom now, their skin and Peter’s hair still humid after the shower they took together; there haven’t been questions there either, only sweet, whispered words and soft, feather-light kisses. But now that Peter’s eyes are shimmering again, now that he is biting his lips like he was doing in the warehouse, Wade has to ask.

“Peter…”

He caresses his face, cups his cheek and Peter leans into the touch, wondering how someone who endured so much violence and hatred can be so tender, gentle and loving. Maybe that’s the reason, he thinks and pride and love for Wade flow through his veins, set him on fire.

 _‘Your father was wrong.’_ he kisses Wade’s rough palm with a teary smile. Wade sees it and grows even more worried, his other hand grasping Peter’s.

“Peter, what’s wrong?” he says, voice low, as if he doesn’t want to scare the young man or make him remember bad things by talking about his pain too loudly. “What happened there? The others didn’t tell me where the machine brought you.” He leans down and presses his forehead against Peter’s. “Was it a bad place? Did… did someone hurt you?” There is a rough edge in his voice when he pronounces the last words.

“Nobody hurt me.” Peter answers with the same sad smile. “I am fine.”

“No, you are not.” Wade growls; he is not angry at him, Peter knows this. He is angry at himself, at his inability to help and understand, and the young man pulls him close, pressing their lips together in a soft, longing kiss.

“Wade.” Peter whispers, pulling away, hot breath ghosting over Wade’s chapped mouth. He moves a hand to the merc’s face and touches the zone right under the left eye, still crying, still smiling. “Wade, I want to make love to you.”

In another kind of situation, Wade would have joked, giggled, made a sexy innuendo or growled his appreciation and pushed Peter to the bed. But right now, as he looks at Peter’s face still wet with tears, at his smile that cannot hide his pain, he does something different. He kisses Peter’s hand, just like he kissed his, and nods. He quietly follows him to the bed and lies down, helping Peter sit on his groin. He caresses the long legs placed at his sides, roams his fingertips over the smooth expanses of skin, and Peter leans down, kissing his face.

“Promise me something.” he whispers and Wade blinks at him, before replying with eagerness: “Anything you want.”

“Promise me you will only take.” Peter places a kiss on his ravaged skin, then another and another one again. “Promise me you won’t give.”

Wade blinks again, opens his mouth to protest, but Peter cuts him off with a finger on his lips.

“Please!” he begs with a shaking voice. “Please, just… just _take_.”

Wade’s eyes dart across his face, looking for an explanation, an answer that may explain him what’s wrong, but he finds none. Uncharacteristically quiet again, he nods a second time and puts his hands on Peter’s hips, waiting.

It’s slow, tender, without hurry. Peter keeps him still using his hands and body - and even a bit of super-strength, Wade suspects - and coats Wade’s manhood with lube and care, spreading the gel on the rough skin with his fingertips. Wade can only look and move his hips a bit when Peter brushes the head or touches a sensitive scar; he observes the young man, studies his face, and Peter returns his intense gaze with a loving, tear-filled one.

This time he is the only one who talks; he whispers gentle words, praises Wade, thanks him ( _‘for what?’_ Wade thinks with worry); he speaks into his ear as he slides down his erection; they hiss and moan together, then Peter starts talking again and Wade watches him, never stops doing so. He doesn’t close his eyes, not even when the pleasure builds up and grows stronger; not even when his hips are pressed down and he has to accept everything Peter gives him, not even when the young man bounces up and down his manhood with torturing slowness.

He tries to move a hand upward to touch Peter’s erection and give him more pleasure, but Peter grabs it before it can touch him and shakes his head.

“N-No!” he pants. He bends down again, this time not to speak to Wade, but to lick and kiss better his scarred fingers, to put them in his mouth. Wade keeps watching him, breathing heavily through his nose, and Peter moans around his mouth until he has to pull it away to breathe and moan louder. His movements are erratic and fast now and they are both so near, oh so near, Wade can feel it, can see it. He moans too when his cock hits Peter’s prostate, but his sounds are nothing compared to Peter’s.

“Wade…!” the young man gasps, speeding up, moving his hips up and down with urgency; he is looking at him too, lost into his eyes, and Wade grasps his hand, their gazes locked.

There is a message in Wade’s eyes, Peter sees it, and it’s what brings him over the edge and makes him shout, white cum dripping all over his and Wade’s stomach. Wade comes as well, with a guttural, deep sound, and before Peter can react, he pulls him forward and wraps his arms around him.

Then he speaks for the first time, a hand between Peter’s brown locks and the other on his sweaty back.

“Peter.”

It’s just his name, but it’s whispered with so much love that Peter can’t help but burst into tears for the millionth time that day. He sobs into Wade’s neck, clings to him, and Wade waits for him to calm down while caressing his back and hair.

“Peter.” he repeats when the sobs and hiccups have subsided. His tone is urgent and stern now, almost frightened. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Peter pulls away slightly and Wade sighs seeing his puffy, bloodshot eyes.

“Oh, honey.” he gently strokes his cheek and Peter sniffs. “What’s eating you?”

“I…” Peter starts, then shakes his head, looking down at Wade’s chest and the scars and bumps on it. The merc tilts his head with a thumb, glaring at him with worry and panic.

“Tell me.”

“Wade…”

“ _Please_.”

Peter gnaws at his lips, his eyes moving to a drawer of the desk in their bedroom; there are two important things in that drawer, one put there by Wade a long time ago, the other one by Peter just a few hours ago, as soon as they came back home and Wade went to the bathroom to prepare the shower.

Peter untangles himself from Wade’s limbs and gets up, heading to the desk with a thundering heart and a dizzy head; he is a bit sore, too, and he knows he’s walking funny, but Wade must be very worried, because he doesn’t crack jokes nor comments innocently.

He opens the drawer and takes the piece of paper he hid under some old folders; he catches a glimpse of the frame he now knows so well and leaves the drawer open. As he goes back to the bed, Wade watches him confused and even more worried than before.

He takes Peter back in his arms and tries to lighten the mood.

“Aw, a love letter?” he says wiggling his hairless eyebrows, but Peter doesn’t return his smile nor laughs; he is the one who is staring intensely without saying anything now and Wade takes the folded piece of paper delicately, with just his thumb and index finger.

“Wade.” Peter whispers as he unfolds it. He is crying again and Wade hurries to dry his eyes with his other hand. “Please, don’t… don’t be mad at me.”

“Why should I be mad at you, baby boy?” Wade replies with a fond smile, which fades away when he sees the pain his words have caused, the increase of tears in Peter’s eyes.

Peter cuddles further next to him, his head on his shoulder, and keeps looking at him expectantly; Wade gives him one last worried look before unfolding completely the paper.

“What is th-”

He stops and pales under the scars; he tightens his grip on the paper, crinkling the edges of it, and Peter’s hand jerks forward, slides quickly over his to beg him not to tear the page apart.

_Dear future me,_

_I hope things are better than they are here. I am doing fine, though, you know I am strong! Nothing scares me anymore, not even dad._  
Are you still strong? Did you meet the heroes you wanted to meet? I hope you gave Captain America the collage you made and told him how much you respect him.  
I also hope mister Peter has become an Avenger, he deserves it so much! Are you working with him? Please tell me you are! It must be so nice to team up with him during missions, he is gentle and funny! I envy you. I think he is my new favorite hero. I will make a collage for him too, I hope you have already given it to him, there where you are.  
Are you with someone now? Do you call them in that special way we know? Remember to always use that nickname so they will know how much you love them! It’s important, I don’t wanna hear about you being rude. Mom would be sad.  
I hope you are making her and your special one proud, future me. And if you are wondering why there are not erased words or typos in this essay, it’s because I first wrote it on two different pages, just to be sure! I know, I know, I am pretty smart. I also didn’t write any bad word, I know those can’t go into these works. I am sure mister Peter will be happy to read this. He is a good person, I hope we will stay friends forever!

_Protect a lot of people today and be a good hero!_

_Wade Wilson_

Wade’s hands are shaking and his lips are twitching. He breathes deeply one, two times, gulps and opens his mouth to speak. A weird sound comes out, similar to a hoarse gasp, and Peter wraps his arms around his neck, crying quietly, still looking at him.

“I…” Wade starts, his voice low and rough. He clears his throat and tries again, still observing the childish handwriting and words: “I never wrote this.”

“I know.” Peter murmurs.

Wade looks at the date in the right corner of the page and crunches the paper a bit more, without even seeing it.

“I am sorry you had to see… that, Peter.” he says softly, finally turning to his boyfriend, whose whole lithe frame is shaken by sobs, his face pressed against Wade’s shoulder.

Wade folds the paper and places it on the nightstand next the bed, then he turns to face Peter and gently rises his head.

“You must hate me so much!” Peter chokes. “I… I was there and…! And I could do _nothing_!” He hides his face again, behind his hands, but Wade pries them away with all the patience and gentleness in the world and cups his wet cheeks.

“I should have taken you with me. It could have worked, Stark would have found a way!” Peter babbles through hiccups and fast breaths. “I should have…! I should have done more!”

“No, Peter.” Wade smiles at him, tenderly, with love. “You already did so much for me. You do it every day.”

“But…!”

“Peter, my past may be the most horrible and shittiest past in this entire universe, but it’s _precious_ to me. And you know why?” Wade is still smiling and Peter is staring at him like he is speaking a foreign, new language.

“You know?” the merc repeats and Peter shakes his head, two more tears falling down from his eyelashes.

“Because it made me meet you.”

Peter’s eyes widen with shock, which turns into the same feeling Wade is looking at him with. Wade’s smile grows and he continues: “Think about it, Petey! Everything that happened in my childhood and adolescence led to you. If I hadn’t run away from dad, if I hadn’t joined the Army and got cancer, if I hadn’t taken part in the Weapon X program and entered the mercenary world, I would have never met you.”

“Wade…!” Peter wails and Wade pulls him into a tight embrace, saying softly, his lips pressed against the young man’s humid cheek: “Peter, I would go through ten Weapon X to be with you.”

Peter’s cries and sobs fill the room and Wade never lets him go, hugging his shaking body with love, whispering comforting words once in a while. They seem to work, because Peter slowly calms down and manages to look at him without weeping anymore.

“Better?” Wade asks him with the same smile from before and Peter nods and take his bald head in his hands.

“Wade.”

“Yes?”

“You are my hero, because you went through so much without never giving up. You always did your best. You always overcame what life threw at you and nobody will ever be as strong and brave as you.”

Wade snorts and blushes, looking away, but the young man moves his head and their eyes meet again.

“Wade.”

“Mh?”

For the first time that day, Peter really smiles, a bright, happy smile, identical to the one on Wade’s lips, and he says, caressing the scarred skin:

“You are my baby boy.”

Something breaks in Wade and his eyes widen before they swell up with tears and his smile comes back.

“Ah…” he chuckles as the shiny droplets roll down his cheeks. “You are making me emotional, Petey.”

Peter strokes his face with his thumbs and answers with a sweet, long, deep kiss, followed by three words that Wade happily says back. They spend the rest of the day in bed and when they get up, Wade, his eyes still humid and a bit reddened, takes the folded page and gives it back to Peter.

He watches with a smile as Peter blushes with happiness and decides to put it in the same, special folder he keeps Aunt May and Uncle Ben’s letters and birthday cards.  
  
  


\- - -  
  
  


Two days later, Wade receives a call from Cap telling him he is very proud of his behavior during the last mission, a basket full of cool gadgets from Tony, Asgardian food from Thor, Logan’s invitation to a bowling night and Bruce’s best regards and wishes.

That same day, Peter sees him standing in front of the desk in their bedroom; the top drawer is open and there is the familiar, old frame in his hands.

For a moment, Peter has like a déjà vu, but it quickly passes, because Wade isn’t looking at the photo with the same sad, tearful eyes of little Wade, but with wonder and peace.

Peter smiles and slowly walks over to him and rests a hand on his arm, looking down at the smiling lady with him.

“She is proud of you, Wade.” he says and Wade smiles softly before turning to him with a grin.

“No shit!” he exclaims. “I have the best boyfriend in the world!”

“I am the lucky one here.” Peter grins back at him, taking his hand and squeezing it. “Because you, the love of my life, are a wonderful man.” Wade blushes and mumbles something, looking down back at the photo, and Peter giggles, kissing him on the lips.

His expression softens and he adds: “There is an empty spot next to Uncle Ben’s picture in the living room.”

Wade observes the photo for a little longer, then chuckles and nods.

“It will look beautiful there.” He looks at Peter again and kisses him. “Thank you.”

And as they place the photo next to Uncle Ben’s, they see that it really looks good and the lady’s smile looks bigger and happier than ever before.


End file.
